Underneath My Being is a Road that Disappeared
by sunsetdreamer
Summary: With each passing week she feels less prepared. She marvels at the paradox while he tries to carry confidence for both of them. Eventually, they'll get it right. They always do. It would be nice, though, if it happened sooner rather than later. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

'Sup? Sooo this would be my first real venture into the Bones verse. I've been working like a fiend trying to put together enough cash to afford the approaching semester (where the hell did summer even go?) but I was watching The Killer in the Concrete before work, and then work itself was really slow and boring, and then one thing led to another (as it usually does with me) and this little ditty got started on my lunch break. I was enjoying myself until fanfiction .net started sucking big time and screwing with all the formatting… left aligning things that should be centred, italicizing things that should be in regular font, putting spaces in the middle of words, etc etc etc. Now I'm pretty much just irritated and posting not because it's fun, but because I'm too stubborn to let this stupid site win. Skynet lives on. All my current bitterness aside, I hope you enjoy it, despite all the new errors that I'm sure will appear as of when I hit save. Screw it.

(ps; **xheart to thee**... if you're reading this, I'm sorry it's not P/L :P. If it's any consolation, I think I'll still get that one up by moving time. I swear I was working on it until Killer in the Concrete abducted my muse.)

* * *

**Underneath My Being is a Road That Disappeared**

_On bended knee is no way to be free;  
lifting up an empty cup I ask silently  
that all my destinations will accept the one that's me,  
so I can breathe._

_Don't come closer or I'll have to go;_  
_owning me like gravity are places that pull._  
_If ever there was someone to keep me at home,_  
_it would be you._

_**Guaranteed, **__Eddie Vedder_

Booth closed the door gently behind him, pausing after the soft click to listen for signs of stirring within the apartment. When all remained still, he slid the bolt into place and started toward the bedroom, grimacing as he caught a whiff of his suit; scents of charred wood and flesh clung to him, much more evident now than they had been at the crime scene. He needed a shower. A slight change of direction brought him to the laundry room door, and he stripped in the hall and tossed the soiled clothing directly into the 'dry-clean-only' hamper – the one Brennan had insisted the laundry room needed – before doubling back to the bedroom.

Upon entering the room he saw Brennan stretched out on her stomach in the middle of his bed, and suddenly the night didn't seem quite as bleak as it had only moments before. He had told her he wouldn't be home for hours, and even though she generally spent Tuesday nights at his place, in his absence he had expected her to return to her own apartment. Light and fresh on the air there rested the unmistakeable scent of his partner's body wash. Her soothing smell enveloped him through the now open door; it repelled the scent of death clinging to his body, and he savoured the calming effect of the honey and lavender vapours. He was partial to that particular soap of hers; it was the same honey and lavender scented soap she had thought she so subtly slipped under his sink a month or so into their relationship, after she began spending increasingly frequent nights at his place. The same honey and lavender scented soap that had stuck out like a nun in a nightclub amongst the other unquestionably masculine toiletries that filled his cupboard. He smiled to himself and gazed fondly at the body mostly buried under the blankets on his bed as he thought to his quick discovery of said body wash, and its subsequent relocation.

_His gaze followed her through the mirror as she hung a towel across the bar to the right of the shower. He had intentionally pulled back the shower curtain, so he knew it was only a matter of time before she noticed what he had done, but until that point he revelled in observing her, the way he always did. Should she suddenly turn around, she would find him dutifully brushing his teeth, clad only in his boxers and a pair of socks. __He saw the exact moment her eyes found the body wash sitting on the rim of the tub, in the corner tucked in-between his bottles of soap and shampoo as if there had never been a time when it didn't belong there. Her eyes darted swiftly between the bottle resting in the shower and the cupboard in which she had last left it, and Booth took his gaze away from her long enough to spit the toothpaste into the sink and rinse out his mouth before casually turning toward her._

_"Morning, Bones." He grinned, tapping the excess water from his toothbrush before dropping it into the cup beside the faucet._

_"Good morning." She responded uncertainly. Logically, she had realized that if she didn't want to go to the lab smelling like Booth, certain changes had to be made. Logically, it made sense to keep supplies in Booth's apartment now that she didn't always have time to make it back to hers before work. Unfortunately, as seemed to occur when it came to her emotions involving Booth, reciting these rational conclusions to herself did little to appease the irrational nervousness tingling through her._

_He put her out of her misery quickly. Closing the distance between them he slid his hand beneath her thin cotton tank top and ran his hands over her soft, chilled skin._

_"I want you to be comfortable here, Bones." He murmured in her ear as he pulled the tank top over her head. "Whether it's a tiny ass space on the sill of my tub, or half my damn closet. Everything I have is yours; don't be afraid to take it."_

He liked to think she understood that he had been referencing a lot more than her girly smelling soap.

His muscles began to relax from the moment he reached to turn on the taps, and by the time he stepped out from under the spray of the showerhead, Booth felt a languid exhaustion pooling in his limbs. The knowledge that he was steps away from clean sheets and his partner's warm, sleeping body was enough to give him hope for a solid, dreamless slumber.

When he opened the door to the bedroom he hesitated ever so slightly; something seemed… off. Not necessarily dangerous, but wrong nonetheless. His gaze automatically flitted expertly about the room, but seeing nothing amiss and finding it increasingly hard to remain conscious, Booth let it go and moved to his side of the bed. Of course, that was the moment the mystery solved itself. Brennan was curled up on her side, her face twisted with obvious displeasure as she muttered a few unintelligible words and twitched arbitrarily. Booth's face flooded with sympathy and he wished – not for the first time – that nightmares weren't such a common occurrence for both of them. With a sigh he slid beneath the duvet and pulled her body against his, relaxing into the mattress and providing Brennan with the only comfort he presently could. In seconds, he began drifting off into a dead sleep, only to be startled into instant alertness when the woman in his arms stiffened and woke up gasping.

"Booth…"

In one smooth motion Booth pulled her into a sitting position beside him and reached over her body to turn on the lamp on the nightstand. He had learned that she always had a moment of panic when she woke up in the dark. A brief moment before she logically reminded herself that she wasn't in a car quickly filling with earth, a second or two at the most, but a terrifying moment for her all the same. She played it off well, but Booth saw. Of course he did. And so he turned on lights before she could open her eyes, and she pretended she didn't notice.

"I got you." Booth murmured gently in her ear, crushing her body against his chest. "You're okay."

"I'm sorry." She breathed desperately.

Booth kissed the top of her head, "Sorry for what? You haven't done-

But she was awake now. The fog cleared from Brennan's eyes and the confusion disappeared soon after. She inhaled and exhaled deeply and brought one hand to her forehead while using the other hand to push insistently against Booth's chest, demanding a little bit of space. Booth obligingly released her, but he kept his palm resting lightly on her back.

"Do you want some water?" He asked softly.

Brennan nodded her head, and without another word Booth was off the bed and out the door so quickly and quietly she could barely process that he'd moved.

She heaved a sigh and then laughed in a decidedly self depreciating fashion. _That had been… interesting._

Booth returned with a glass, already slippery with condensation, and she smiled gratefully as she took it from his waiting hands and allowed herself a long drink.

He smiled as she looked around for a coaster, refusing to rest the glass down atop the oak night table until she managed to locate one. When she turned back to face him quizzically, wondering why he had yet to return to the bed, Booth's eyes glinted mischievously and he presented her with the bottle of Tequila he had been concealing behind his back.

"What do you say we go for something a little stronger?" He said lightly, taking a very childish flying leap onto the mattress.

"Booth." Brennan protested bemusedly.

He passed her the bottle. "Ladies first."

The smile she gave him as she took the bottle was genuine. He was sensitive to her feelings, and he really did try to give her space when he thought she wanted it. Three years ago she may not have been able to tell, but now she could easily recognize that he was reacting to the way she had pushed him off of her when she first became coherent; he was trying to make her laugh instead of comforting her directly. It was sweet in a very Booth-y way.

"Tempting." She answered ruefully, but she set the bottle on the floor without opening it. "It's entirely unnecessary though, Booth. I'm fine."

"'Fine' is no reason to turn down a perfectly good drink." Booth replied, feigning great offense. "No one appreciates good Tequila like you do, Bones. You didn't even look at the bottle! I picked it up while you were in Sweden last month."

She suddenly looked very, very tired.

"It's an admirable gesture," she said softly, wearing only a shell of her former smile, "but not tonight."

Dropping the teasing façade, Booth's features grew serious and his eyes darkened protectively as he placed a hand on her thigh. "She won't touch you again. Ever."

"It wasn't that. It was silly." Brennan insisted reluctantly.

Her conviction that the episode hadn't been anything short of foolish was cemented by the rather rare blush that stained her cheeks, and Booth frowned. The, "I'm fine" responses Brennan was apt to delivering when she wanted to avoid admitting weakness were usually coupled with a lack of eye contact and restless movement. While her fingers were indeed twisting nervously, she was meeting his gaze directly and earnestly; something she had difficulty doing when she was skirting the truth. Booth was once again consumed by the feeling that something within their bedroom was off kilter.

"How come you went to the crime scene without me?"

The indignant question came out of left field as Brennan latched on to his moment of uncertainty and used his contemplative silence to change the subject. Booth recognized the distraction attempt for what it was; hell, she had learned to do that from him. But if this was what she needed, he would give in to her. For now.

"Bones, there are plenty of things you do at work without me; why is it so hard for you to wrap your head around me doing the same?"

The frown deepened and she brushed a few flyaway strands of hair out of her face. "In the lab your presence often proves more of a distraction than anything else. In the field I've consistently proven myself to be of great assistance to you."

He slid under the heavy duvet and placed a kiss on her forehead. "Don't worry your pretty little head about it."

Brennan wrinkled her nose in distaste and resisted his touch as he tried to pull her to the mattress. "I'm finding I'm still every bit as irritated with you when you're condescending as I was before we started having sex with each other."

Booth rolled his eyes, "Not now, okay, Bones? Tomorrow morning I'll be ready to argue our conflicting feminist and patriarchal tendencies, but for right now, I just want to hold my partner and pass out for a few hours before the alarm goes off."

She gave a huff of displeasure – one that pleased him because it meant that _something _about her was normal tonight – but then her face flashed sadness as the memory of whatever it was she was keeping from him found its way back to her.

The silence was oppressive; the air thick with the thoughts weighing on her mind that she couldn't bring herself to share. Booth pulled her closer and refused to be deterred when her body flinched ever so slightly before he could all but hear her command herself to relax. God, he was exhausted. But he would never get to sleep with them like this.

"Temperance," he breathed, "talk to me, baby."

Her breathing stopped for a moment; she couldn't help being affected by the gentle, yet indelibly _commanding _voice he adopted under circumstances that he deemed exceptionally important. For a moment he thought she would give in, but then she steeled herself and exhaled sharply before falling back onto age old defenses.

"Don't call me baby."

* * *

The alarm clock sounded off in the bedroom three and a half hours later, and Booth muttered a few choice expletives as he waited for Brennan to turn the damn thing off.

On a morning not so long ago, she had very practically suggested that moving the alarm from his side of the bed to hers would save him the cost of having to replace the machine repeatedly, while simultaneously saving her from being startled awake when he angrily (noisily) smashed it into silence after a night of too little sleep.

When the increasingly aggravating, monotonous beeping continued, Booth groaned and buried his face further into his pillow.

"Bones, come on. You're killing me here."

When his complaint was met with silence, Booth reluctantly turned his head to her side and opened his eyes. There was a moment of confusion when he took in the empty space beside him, and then the awkwardness of only hours before came rushing back. He wearily sank back into the mattress and placed an arm over his eyes to shield them from the bright sunlight.

"Shit."

The fact that he hadn't so much as stirred when she left the room was testament to his exhaustion. He tried to gather his thoughts and structure an opener for the conversation he was going to have to have with Brennan, but it wasn't long before the blare of the alarm clock was seeping through every part of his consciousness and drowning out all other brain function.

And then Booth was angry. He was angry with the arsonist who had torched the Rose Hill townhouse that morning, he was angry for the family who had burned within it, he was angry at the job that took and took and took from him and still grudged him a full night's sleep, he was angry with Bones and the way she had bolted as if they were a week into their relationship instead of two thirds of a year, and he was angry with that _fucking_ clock-

In one of the blinding fast, practiced movements which told the world that the seemingly calm waters of Seeley Booth ran unquestionably deep, he ripped the alarm away from the outlet and hurled it against the far wall.

That took care of one problem.

He looked sheepishly in the direction of the bedroom door, half expecting it to open as Brennan came to investigate the noise and exasperatedly scold him for the rather childish display of temper. When the door remained closed, the surge of anger faded away and left Booth simply filled with dread for the upcoming day.

Her toothbrush was dry in the bathroom, there was no coffee waiting in the kitchen, and the morning paper was still hanging on the outside of the front door; all indications that she had left the apartment hours ago, possibly (likely) right after he had fallen asleep. Booth sighed and shook his head, putting all thoughts of his partner temporarily out of his mind as he set the coffee percolating and gathered his case files from the living room coffee table.

* * *

Angela yawned as she somewhat sluggishly fumbled with the sliding door and made her way into the lab. Playing hooky with Jack yesterday had been worth it – God, had it ever been worth it – but Cam would have her ass on a platter if those sketches weren't waiting for her the moment she came in. Even though it pained her, here she was, reporting for duty, at the absolutely _ungodly _hour of 6:30am.

She took a sip of her latte and shuffled toward her office by memory, with her eyes mostly closed.

"…_grooves in the right ulna contain unidentified fragments; organic in appearance… further lab analysis should reveal-_

Angela's eyes snapped open at the sound of her best friend's voice, and her gaze came to rest on the platform where Brennan was hunched over an examination table, intently recording her thoughts via the recorder in her left hand.

Angela smiled to herself and changed direction. She was already impossibly behind on those sketches; a couple more minutes of procrastination couldn't possibly make a difference.

"Morning, Sweetie." Angela grinned as she skipped up the platform stairs.

"Hey Ange." Brennan answered distractedly without lifting her eyes from the skeleton before her.

"What are you doing here?" She laughed, "Are you fighting with Booth again? Is he still mad about you wearing the totally hot fuck-me heels when we went to that club Saturday? Don't blame me, Bren, you looked _stunning_ and the make-up sex is going to be fabulous… hey maybe you can do the surprise quickie thing in his office again around lunch; he sure liked that well enough the last-

Brennan finally looked up, and the teasing smile immediately fell away from Angela's face.

"What happened?"

Brennan strode across the platform with feigned nonchalance and placed the recorder on a nearby table. "Nothing happened, Angela. I just have a lot of work..."

"Yeah... I'm going to go ahead and call 'bullshit' on that one." Angela retorted bluntly. Her eyebrows furrowed and under her intense gaze, Brennan took a step back.

It was bad enough thinking about Booth looking through her that way; she couldn't, _couldn't_ handle Angela doing it right now too. She averted her eyes and stripped the latex gloves from her hands, walking purposefully past Angela to drop them in the garbage can. Before she could head to the safety of her office, Angela was stepping in front of her.

"No. No, I know that face. I'm not letting you past me until you tell me what's going on."

The concern in Angela's voice was palpable, and when Brennan was unexpectedly overwhelmed by the care of the friend who had always just loved her, she succumbed to the sudden impulse to throw her arms around Angela and pull her into a tight hug.

Whether the action surprised her more, or Angela, neither of them would ever know.

Hot coffee sloshed out of the hole in the lid and scalded Angela's hand, but she held in the hiss of pain and quickly returned the hug, putting all the love into the motion that she could manage.

"Tell me what happened, sweetie." She encouraged gently, "You'll feel better."

"I…" Brennan started slowly, her voice muffled by Angela's sweater, "Booth… I don't…" A beat passed and then Brennan pulled away. "I can't, right now. Ange, I really can't. Can we do this later? Please?"

Angela took a deep breath. Brennan's expression was desperate, and in the interest of letting her maintain the tentative control she was struggling to keep over her emotions, Angela forced a friendly smile. The crease between her brows smoothed out, and she moved the coffee cup to her opposite hand and wiped the wet one on her jeans before offering the drink to Brennan.

"Here. I think you need this more than I do. There's only a sip or two missing."

Angela winked, and Brennan visibly relaxed. "Thank you. But I really don't have time… I need to get back to work."

"Oh, come on." Angela cajoled, waving the paper cup temptingly, "Hazelnut soy milk latte, no whip, an extra shot of espresso AND a shot of vanilla for good measure. This baby is your _dream_, Bren."

"I don't _want_ the coffee, Angela!" Brennan snapped, "_God!_"

Silence descended; Brennan's fists clenched at her sides, and the look Angela gave her almost did her in. Because there wasn't a hint of anger to be seen in her best friend's face. Nor was there hurt, disappointment, or any array of appropriate emotions she had come to recognize in the last few years. Angela just stood there looking so _concerned_ that it made Brennan feel infinitely worse than she would have if Angela had simply given her what she had coming and poured the drink down her shirt.

"Excuse me." She mumbled. Then she hurried down the steps and strode stiffly out of Angela's sight.

* * *

When he arrived at the lab late that afternoon, the first people Booth saw were Hodgins and Cam on the platform. Hodgins was gesturing emphatically as he explained something to his boss, and Cam processed the information intently with her arms crossed over her chest. At the sound of his footsteps they both looked up, and Booth caught the look of relief they exchanged with one another before hesitantly acknowledging his presence with a nod.

Before Booth could put too much thought into the significance of their shared glance, Angela stepped out of her office and into his path. He immediately raised a hand in greeting, expecting to be met with a flirty grin in return, but he stopped abruptly when instead, Angela's eyes grew stormy as she strode purposefully in his direction.

He stood stock still, frozen in shock at the look on Angela's face that could be interpreted as passionate dislike at best, and something akin to hate at its worst. He was uncomfortably searching his brain for anything he could have possibly done to offend her when she reached his side and thumped her clipboard solidly against his left bicep.

"Ow! Hey! What is your problem?" He yelped in surprise.

"What did you do to her?" Angela's voice was low and furious. "Booth, only you could affect her like this."

Without giving him time to respond, Angela raised the clipboard once again and used both hands to slam it back down on his body.

"Okay, seriously," Booth's eyes darkened, "You need to knock that off."

Angela continued to glare defiantly, but her arms dropped to her sides.

"I have no idea what the hell you're talking about." His voice was a tension wrought growl and his eyes darted about the room, searching for signs of his partner's whereabouts. "What did she say to you?"

Hodgins and Cam had resumed their conversation, but the half dozen times their gazes had strayed to his and Angela's position assured Booth that they were listening closely to every word. Feeling as if everyone in the room knew something he didn't, Booth raised his voice and agitatedly addressed them as well. "What the hell is going on?"

Angela raised her chin and remained wilfully silent. She didn't know anything, actually, but she'd be damned if she let Booth know that. Her friend's utterly despondent face was still fresh in her memory, and Agent Studly wasn't very high up on her list of favourite people right now.

In the end, it was Cam who finally provided him with an answer.

"Dr. Brennan has resigned herself to bone storage for the afternoon." The pathologist stated in an even, practiced tone that revealed nothing and everything at the same time. "She's finding herself exasperated by the lack of focus being displayed by the rest of the team today."

There was no mistaking the sardonic spin of Cam's words. She met his eyes without wavering and quirked an eyebrow expectantly; the message was clear._ You've pissed off our anthropologist, Seeley. Thanks._

It was Angela's continuing stubbornness that kept him from getting sidetracked by a general frustration with Brennan and the squints and the world in general. While a part of him wanted to indignantly protest the way they all assumed that whatever had happened (what _had _happened?) was his fault, the part of him that was in control recognized that it really wasn't like Angela to direct so much aggression his way. If his partner were merely pissed off at something he had done, Angela would be smirking and teasing and verbalizing every sexual innuendo her dirty mind could come up with. This steady fury indicated that Angela honestly believed he had hurt her.

Booth tossed the folder in his hand in the general direction of the platform and stepped around Angela.

"Sign those for me, will you Camille?" He said tersely.

He didn't wait for a response from any of them, and if they gave one, he didn't hear it.

* * *

When Booth reached the bottom of the staircase leading to limbo he dialled the familiar number; from the dark recesses of the depressing space, he heard a faint chirping ring through once, then twice, and then cease altogether. He tried dialling her number again, but she was, after all, a genius; if she didn't want to talk to him, she certainly wasn't going to make it easy for him to find her. This time the phone went straight to voicemail.

Starting down the nearest corridor to the far wall, Booth prayed she wouldn't simply walk up the stairs back to the lab once she figured out he didn't plan on leaving until he found her. He walked systematically through the labyrinth-like layout he had come to know as well as the architect who designed it, and he kept his ears attuned to any noise that fell outside the dull buzzing created by the air conditioner.

Only six minutes passed before he picked out her figure. In her own strange and twisted form, Lady Luck was with him.

The aisle he found Brennan sitting in was no different from the previous dozen he had already covered, and as he rounded the corner he exhaled deeply in relief. Her eyes were closed and her knees were drawn up against her chest; arms wrapped around them tight as if some part of her believed the motion was literally holding her together.

_That's not possible, Booth. _The sound of her sensible voice flitted through his mind in response to the irrational thought that had dared to pass through him, and he shook his head to clear it.

Booth ambled down the aisle toward her with a practiced calm, and he intentionally, subtly, made a little noise for the first time since coming down the stairs.

Brennan opened her eyes and lifted her head from where it rested against the wall of storage containers.

"You found me." She said softly.

"Former ranger, Bones." Booth replied easily, settling himself on the ground beside her without touching her. "We've had this conversation."

He stared straight ahead in order to keep her from feeling pressured. The glassy sheen of her eyes he had witnessed before he sat down told him that while she hadn't been crying, it was taking all her effort to keep emotion at bay. Now that he was sitting here, she was fighting harder than ever. Without turning to face her he let his hand find hers, and after a moment's hesitation her fingers curled around his.

Slowly, her arms dropped away from her knees and fell to her sides, and through their hands alone they remained connected over the two feet of space between them.

For Brennan, it soon felt too comforting. Too safe. Too much as if as long as his hand was warm and her hand was in his, nothing could be as bad as it seemed. Too much conjecture. Where was her logic? She wanted her hand back.

Booth wouldn't let go.

He could feel her emotions whirring, and he could imagine that the anger she was emitting was directed at herself more than it was him. She was trying with everything she had to shove whatever it was that was bothering her into a box, and it simply would not stay. Her brilliant mind was defying her, and she was enraged by it.

Booth waited patiently; the patience of a sniper, the patience of a father; the patience that came of an eight year partnership with one Temperance Brennan.

"I'm pregnant."

* * *

A week and a half ago, Brennan had left work early of her own free will. No nagging from Booth required. She had slipped past Hodgins and Wendell without a word; focus already redirected from skeletons to her doctor's appointment.

For four days of every month, Brennan underwent the menses stage of her menstrual cycle and shed her uterine lining. Four days at the beginning of every month like clockwork, since she was fifteen years old. And because she was a logical, pragmatic scientist, when those four days hadn't begun precisely on schedule it hadn't taken her more than a moment to conclude a severe ear infection and an intense cycle of antibiotics could have been enough to affect the effects of her birth control; she was never late. But, because she was a logical, pragmatic scientist, because she didn't accept any scenario (no matter how plausible) without irrefutable evidence to stand behind it, Brennan hadn't dwelled on it again until her doctor had provided the required lab work informing her she was, in no uncertain terms, pregnant.

_"I'll need a quantitative blood test as well."_

_"The urine tests are more than adequate, Dr. Brennan." Dr. Faye Callahan had assured her._

_She bristled. "I'm well aware of the statistical probabilities associated with testing urine for HCG." She had clamped her jaw shut, because she hadn't had the patience to give a lecture when her doctor was eventually going to have to give her the goddamn test she wanted anyway. "If you'll just give me the paperwork, I'll be on my way to get the samples drawn from the clinic."_

_The physician paused, having had Brennan as a patient long enough to know the woman was… tenacious._

_"It'll be at least a week before you're contacted with the results." She had tried one last time without much conviction._

_"I'm aware of that." Brennan had responded, slightly offended by the fact that her doctor felt the need to tell __**her **__how long lab results took. She began stripping out of the standard issue gown with her usual lack of modesty and reached for her blouse and jeans. "Just sign the forms. I need to get back to work."_

And then, again, the issue had been put out of her mind until yesterday evening when her blackberry had rung as she was sprawled on the couch in Booth's apartment. One minute she had been working on her novel and waiting for him to come home, and the next there had been no more room for denial. Just a slap in the face with the cold straight facts that had left her stunned.

_"Positive. The results are undoubtedly positive."_

She hadn't been able to bring herself to type another word after that. The phone call had interrupted Andy and Kathy in the middle of passionate, wild, uninhibited sex, and she couldn't move them forward because shouldn't they know enough to _be __**careful**__?_

* * *

_This baby is your __**dream**__, Bren_. At the time, she had taken Angela's sentence out of context, but just thinking about it made her want go find her friend and yell at her all over again. This was not a dream. It was real and terrifying.

They had yet to look at one another since Booth had sat down beside her, and she kept her gaze fastidiously ahead after the words finally left her mouth.

_Pregnant. I'mpregnantI'mpregnantI'mpregnant._

In spite of herself, Brennan's mind strayed to that morning and the less-than-nightmare which had been nonsensical and clichéd to the point of ludicrousness. It had been embarrassing, and Booth's attentiveness when she (pathetically) woke up had made it worse.

Logically, there was fact 1: Parker hadn't been planned any more than this… zygote? Fetus? (she had a feeling Booth would dispute both terminologies) .

Logically, there was fact 2: Booth loved Parker more than he loved anyone in the world, regardless of the accidental conception.

But the bill (_coin, Bones. It's **coin**_) had two sides. And in examining the negative, the positive points were swiftly out measured.

Fact 3: Parker caused Booth constant worry.

Fact 4: even she, who could claim no blood tie to the child, had experienced a sickening, stomach churning feeling like no other when she saw harm come to him. The time he was struck in the face by that baseball at the game she went to with Booth. The time he slipped on the ice and hit his head when _she was supposed to be watching him._

She still couldn't be entirely certain that it was worth it.

She forced her mind back to the present. Back to the man beside her. Back to the news she had just blurted out with her usual lack of tact. Twelve seconds of silence passed (she counted) but Booth didn't pull away his hand. She kept panic at bay by focusing on this detail. Past experience had taught her that while Booth was generally very tactile, furious-Booth refused to touch or be touched by her. She focused on their entwined fingers and told herself that this particular line of reasoning wasn't based in conjecture, but was rather a rational assumption formed upon years of collected data; one and a half sugars in her coffee were fine, but two would be too sweet. Tequila caused hangovers, but overindulging in vodka would not affect her the next morning. If Booth was angry, he wouldn't hold her hand.

She repeated all this to herself one more time as another five seconds passed.

"Okay." Booth finally said.

"Okay?" She repeated slowly, dubiously; as if the word was new and foreign on her tongue and she didn't quite trust it.

"Okay." Booth confirmed firmly, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the velvety skin covering her knuckles.

Brennan couldn't bring herself to break the sense of comfort their lack of eye contact had brought her, but she let her eyes slide Booth's way and studied his face through her peripheral vision. Reading people wasn't her strength, but she could read Booth. Most of the time. She had a vague notion (originating in a place that Booth would call her gut) that no one could read him if he didn't want them to, but that was more conjecture. There had been more than enough of that lately.

She struggled to interpret what she could see from her limited view.

Determination; that was easily identifiable through the clenched jaw. There was fear, too, evident in the way the pressure on her hand increased ever so slightly. The difficulty lay in his eyes; his expressive brown irises were soft, which put them in direct contrast with the tension radiating from the rest of his body. A frown marred the impassive mask Brennan had been maintaining with varying degrees of success as she fought to quantify the anomaly. She knew that expression. Maybe if she were staring at him directly she could place it, but as things stood, it was just outside her-

It clicked. There.

Unbridled love and devotion. The warmth he had taught her to recognize through his own example. The same warmth that crossed his face when he woke up to find her intently memorizing his features. The warmth she had seen so brightly the first time they had had sex (_made love, Bones_). Suddenly, Brennan thought she might finally cry, even though she wanted very much not to do so.

She allowed herself a small snuffle, and then she scooted toward Booth without releasing his hand until their sides were pressed together and his body heat was seeping through her light cashmere sweater to rest against her skin. Her head dropped to his shoulder, and his head rested against hers, and Brennan tentatively explored the idea that this might actually prove to be okay.


	2. Chapter 2

It never occurred to me to expand on this until a few reviews put the idea in my head… after that, the idea just kept growing. Kind of like _Inception_. Fortunately, in this particular situation it didn't lead to me jumping off the ledge of a high rise, sooo I guess I should be thankful. Maybe next time, DiCaprio. Anyway, on a Bones related note, I have a ton of random snippets written for this (you know the expression, "write drunk, edit sober"? I live by that code. And I drink a lot. You do the math) but since this is thus far one of only a few cohesive pieces I have, for now I'll leave this as a completed two shot. If I get my act in gear enough to turn it into a real story in the future, that'd be kind of fun, but this way means less frustration for writer and reader alike :).

Heads up; I hate spoilers. Like, hate them with a passion. I LIVE for speculation, and I will obsess over the tiniest details for hours on end trying to predict possible twists and plot directions and conspiracies, but I don't like having things DEFINITELY revealed to me before I get a chance to see them on screen. That goes for good things and bad things alike. It's like knowing what you're getting for Christmas/Birthdays before the actual date. Sooo if it hasn't been shown as a tv promo, assume I don't know about it and pleaaassssseeee don't tell me. I may actually cry.

Okay... the crying part probably wouldn't happen. But I'd still be pretty unimpressed. Oh, and I just got back from a vacay in Cuba (hence the heavy drinking and subsequent new chapter) so I haven't seen episodes 5/6 yet. Just so's you know :) . Aaaand scene.

* * *

_They say that home is where the heart is; I guess I haven't found my home.  
And we keep driving 'round in circles, afraid to call this place our own._

_And are we there yet? Home, home home._

_Where you will lie on the rug while I play with the dog,  
and it won't be too much; 'cause this is too much.  
'Cause this is too much for me to hold.  
This is too much for me to hold._

**_Are we There Yet, _**_Ingrid Michaelson_

Weeks passed, and they settled into a tentative expansion on their established routine. Brennan dealt with her share of the typical pregnancy drawbacks the same way she dealt with the majority of non-work related problems that troubled her; she stubbornly ignored them until they went away. Or, until she couldn't.

They were eating dinner when the familiar, involuntary contractions in her stomach muscles began. She stiffened, knife and fork in hand, as she waged war against her own body. And then Booth's voice broke through her concentration.

"Bones, if you're feeling sick, just let it happen." He advised with a faint hint of amusement at her antics, "It comes with the territory. And you're going to have to start breathing again eventually."

"I'm…" she stiffened again, "…fine."

"You're not." He contradicted softly.

She inhaled slowly through her nose and reached for her water glass, but the instant the liquid passed her lips, she knew she had made the wrong move. Her mouth began rapidly over-salivating, and the muscle convulsions increased.

"Bones, last time I saw Parker make the face you're making now, he threw up all over his bed. Now, unless you want to make a mess of your kitchen-

But she wasn't listening to him anymore. She had already unhappily concluded that she was fighting a battle she couldn't win. Trying to keep what remained of her dignity intact, Brennan stood up from the table and walked – she _refused _to run – quickly toward the hallway bathroom.

After retching repeatedly, Brennan rested her head against the soothing cool of the bathtub and waited for the combination of tremors and cold sweat to subside. When she was confident she could stand without her stomach rebelling, she opened the cupboard under the sink and fished out a spare toothbrush. Feeling a tad better once her mouth was clean, she opened the bathroom door and stopped short at the sight of Booth, sitting patiently against the opposite wall with his arms resting across his knees.

She caught a glimpse of concern on his face, but it melted away when she reappeared no worse for wear and a boyish grin took its place. Brennan frowned; it was the smile he gave her when he had a thought that he believed to be particularly clever.

"What?"

"I told you so."

A beat passed as she tried to ascertain what he meant by that vague statement, and then the answer came to her. _I don't vomit. __Everything happens eventually._

Brennan shook her head and childishly flipped him the finger as she stepped around his body and walked down the hall back to the kitchen.

The next evening, as Brennan rifled through Booth's cupboards while he showered, she found them stocked with salted crackers, ginger ale and eight different types of green tea. She smiled at the quiet gesture, and admitted to herself that Booth, occasionally, still managed to surprise her. She could feel his gaze whenever they occupied the same room, but there was none of the overt hovering, none of the constant touching, she had both dreaded and expected from him.

That being said, they had been… _less _recently. Her brow furrowed at the inarticulate thought, but she couldn't find the words she needed to create a more academic phrasing. Brennan simply knew that since that afternoon in bone storage, Booth had been quieter around her. The change had been subtle, but there had been less teasing, less bickering, less _just-because _visits to the Jeffersonian, and since she was now accustomed to taking her social cues from him, she sensed that she had been somehow _less _in the past few weeks as well.

Putting the unsettling thought out of her mind, Brennan flicked on the kettle and pulled her favourite mug down from the high shelf.

* * *

They were both early risers; although Brennan's sleep patterns tended to vary more than Booth's. He could find her already working away on her laptop at five am, or she could sleep as late as eleven if she were tired enough and went uninterrupted by him or an alarm. Today, it was three minutes to seven and she was still fast asleep, sprawled out on her stomach with one hand fisted beneath her cheek. Booth smiled as a few stray hairs fell into her face, tickling her nose and causing it to crinkle. As he carefully tucked the rebel strands back behind her ear, he speculated on the level of irritation Brennan would display in a few months time when stretching out in the bed flat on her belly would no longer be an option.

They hadn't talked, _really _talked, about the pregnancy and what it would mean for both of them since that first day back at the lab. He was trying to give her space to adjust, because he wanted, _needed_, her to be comfortable with this, and any perceived pressure to be happy from him would only slow down the process. She would get there eventually. In the meantime, however, he was going crazy second guessing himself; _Was he giving her too little space, or too much space, or just enough? Would a normal amount of teasing make her laugh, or get him punched in the face?_

He was ripped from his thoughts by the shrieking of the alarm, and Booth reached over her body to silence the buzzer (the right way this time; smashing his own clock was one thing, but he would never hear the end of it if he ruined hers) before sliding out of bed.

"Up and at 'em, Bones." He called loudly as he headed for her bathroom door. She muttered something into her pillow, and, satisfied that she was on her way to being fully conscious, Booth closed the door behind him. However, when he emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later, Brennan was still cocooned beneath the blankets. Booth rolled his eyes.

"Bones, let's go. I don't want you yelling at me in half an hour because we're running behind when you're the one holding us up."

"I'm up, Booth." She mumbled without opening her eyes. "Stop yelling."

"I'm putting the coffee on." Booth warned. "You better be in the shower by the time the pot's finished."

"Or what?" She challenged.

Booth frowned at the blatant lack of concern in her tone. "Just do it, okay Bones? I get cranky when we don't have time for breakfast. You _know _that."

She waved him off with a careless flick of her wrist, and Booth rolled his eyes again. "I mean it." He called over his shoulder.

It took thirty-five minutes and an additional two proddings from Booth before Brennan made it into the shower – partly in stubborn protest of his ordering her around, but mostly because she was just so _tired_ – and while she was letting the cold water run over her in a merciless attempt to jar herself into alertness, the bathroom door opened.

"Hey Bones?"

"I'm awake!" She snapped.

There was silence, and when he spoke again, his voice was cautious. "I just wanted to know what you want for breakfast."

She sighed, because six weeks ago he would have been snapping right back at her instead of walking on… the idiom had something to do with chickens. Or was it eggs? Maybe it was a farm. There was an expression Booth sometimes used about being on a farm…

"Bones."

"Toast is fine, Booth."

He hesitated before speaking again. "Are you sure? You've been eating less than usual lately..."

Brennan exhaled slowly and shut off the water before ripping back the shower curtain. "I'm sure, Booth. And my eating habits have _not _undergone any recent change worth noting."

Booth's gaze followed the southward paths the rivulets of water were making down her naked body, and she found herself annoyed – although not altogether surprised – when he stepped toward her and possessively gripped her hips.

"Booth, we don't have time-

Hands still on her hips, his eyes travelled intensely up and down her body in a way that seemed more… studious than lustful. Her irritation increased as she struggled to understand what he was doing and came up short.

"_What_?"

"Aren't women supposed to gain weight when they're pregnant?"

She fixed him with a pointed look that conveyed just how utterly stupid she thought the question was. "Yes." She drew out the word slowly. "While excessive gain can be avoided through proper diet and exercise, the average tends to fall somewhere between twenty and forty pounds. Based on my pre-pregnancy body mass index, I would estimate an increase of twenty five to thirty five pounds as a healthy range."

"Uh huh. Then why do you seem to be _losing_ weight, Bones?"

Brennan rolled her eyes as understanding donned on her, and she pushed his hands away from her hip bones. "Many women lose weight before they begin to gain it, Booth."

"I'm not worried about other women. I worry about you."

"Well, I assure you it's nothing to worry about. I'm extraordinarily healthy." She stepped out of the tub and yanked her towel off the rack. "We're going to be late. Go; I promise I'm not going to fall asleep again. You really do become quite irritable when you don't eat in the morning."

* * *

It was instantly evident that Booth had been very, very busy while she had been getting dressed. Brennan stepped into the kitchen and sat cautiously in her usual seat at her table; the kitchen was a disaster; testament to how quickly he had thrown everything together. Was that _batter _on her refrigerator door?

She opened her mouth to protest, but Booth cut her off. "I'll clean up while you eat. Promise."

He set a plate down casually in front of her, and her irritation immediately faded into amusement.

"You can't honestly expect me to eat all this." She laughed, taking in the stack of pancakes surrounded by scrambled eggs, toast, half a bagel and a few hash-browns with an incredulous eye.

"What? I'm trying to keep you healthy, Bones." Booth went for nonchalant, but his tone came across decidedly defensive.

"Well- you've created a paradox, Booth." Brennan began, sporting the confused expression he would _swear _was an act if he didn't know her so damn well. "You claim to want me healthy, and yet you're attempting to force me to indulge in a diet comprised of high concentrations of sugars, oils and saturated fats; which is not at all conducive to a healthy lifestyle."

Booth sighed, "Could you just eat it, Bones? It would make me feel better."

Maybe it was because she was still a little tired and thus, short tempered. Maybe it was because she was already a tiny bit upset about his open critique of her body in the bathroom. Hell, maybe it was simply because she didn't even _like _hash-browns, and that was something Booth very well knew. Whatever the reason, something inside her snapped.

"I will not." She protested haughtily. "I am not going to change _my _eating habits just to put _your _mind at ease."

"Bones." He began exasperatedly.

"No." She was angry now; she could feel the adrenaline pumping through her body, feel the heat of her skin as it grew flushed. She could handle their bickering, but right now he was trying to _bully _her. Which meant he was no longer looking at her as an equal. "_No_! It's _my _body, Booth. Just because you impregnated me doesn't mean you now understand my needs better than I do! I can take care of myself!"

"It's not just about you anymore, Bones. Damn it."

With his words, Booth watched the figurative wall go up around her. Her grip tightened on the mug in her hand and her spine jerked erect as her entire body went rigid.

"You think that I'm incapable of putting its needs ahead of my own desires." She concluded coolly. "You think that without your constant supervision, I would endanger it."

"It" felt wrong the moment it came off her tongue, and later, when she wasn't pissed and hurt, she would examine why "it" no longer seemed like an appropriate manner of addressing the life growing inside her when "it" had never caused a second thought before.

Across from her, Booth's eyes widened. His mouth opened and closed several times without a sound as he floundered for the words to pull him out of the giant hole he had dug for himself. "No! No, Bones. That wasn't- I don't- I didn't…" his voice trailed off. _Oh hey there, Rock; meet Hard Place._

Brennan's jaw locked shut. She could feel tears beginning to burn the back of her eyes and she blinked furiously as she inwardly cursed the hormone overload that had begun to hijack her senses at the most inopportune times as of late. Yes, a part of her was hurt; a part of her felt betrayed that Booth could think so little of her when he had always been the one so certain she had more metaphoric heart than she believed, but more than any of that she was _angry._ Furious, even. And Temperance Brennan didn't make a habit of _crying _when she was angry. Yet here she was, trying her damndest not to cry while Booth stared at her with regret and pity because he was too _stupid _to see the difference between her crying because she was sad and her crying because she wanted to throw the breakfast plate at his head. She shoved her chair away from the kitchen table and stormed out of sight.

"Bones." Booth protested. When he received no response, Booth threw his napkin on the table and started after her, knocking his own chair over in the process.

The rage didn't dissipate when she walked away, and Brennan paced her bedroom wishing there was enough time to go for a walk before heading to the lab. When Booth rounded the corner into her room, she pulled a heavy book from her nightstand and hurled it in his direction.

"Whoa!" Booth jerked his head to the side and narrowly missed taking the hit in the face as the book crashed into the wall behind him. He raked a hand through his hair in frustration. "Alright, you're angry. I get that, Bones, but you can't go around throwing things at people just because you feel like it!"

Her eyes narrowed and her clenched jaw lifted slightly in defiance. Without a word, Brennan turned back to the drawer, removed four more texts, and threw them in Booth's direction in quick succession. Booth accurately guessed his chances of avoiding unconsciousness were greater keeping his distance rather than trying to approach her; thankfully, Brennan's aim wasn't exceptionally consistent when she was pissed off. He caught the last book against his stomach, and when he pulled it away from himself and reflexively glanced at the cover, Booth frowned and then took a closer look at the titles surrounding him on the floor. Pregnancy books. Most of them had elongated medical titles only half understood by him, but there were a few of the more traditional variety present as well. He thumbed through the book in his hands and noted all the highlights and scribbles in the margins.

He was an ass.

"I've read them each cover to cover three times." Brennan's voice shook, although now there were too many emotions flowing through her to pinpoint which was currently dominant. "I signed up for a pre-natal yoga class, I've limited myself to one caffeinated cup of coffee a day, I've entirely abstained from alcohol _even though _recent studies have found that there is _nothing _harmful in the occasional glass of wine, I haven't worked late enough to fall asleep at the lab in weeks… I know I'm often selfish and sometimes I have difficulty recognizing the needs of others in addition to my own, but I'm not _irresponsible_, Booth. I am capable of caring very deeply for other people. I _am_."

The confidence in her voice had been fading slowly as she presented her argument, and the last declaration seemed to have been repeated for her own benefit as well as his. His guilt intensified. He really was an ass.

"I know you are, Bones." Booth said softly. "I've always known that. What I said was insensitive, and I honestly didn't mean for it to come out that way; I'm sorry."

She brushed her bangs out of her face and anger took the reins once again. "Go to hell." He opened his mouth to respond and she shook her head, "I would like you to leave."

This time, it was Booth that noticeably stiffened. "I'm not leaving with us like this." He said firmly.

"Fine." She retorted, snatching her purse from the chair in the corner. "I'll leave. Lock the door on your way out."

He grabbed her arm as she passed him and her fingers reflexively tightened into fists. "Let go, Booth." She demanded evenly.

She watched the muscle in his jaw tick furiously, but after a moment he released her. Head held high, Brennan strode down the hall and slammed her front door, leaving Booth alone in her bedroom to wonder how in the hell the morning had spiralled so quickly.

* * *

_I'm sorry._

Booth texted the message within minutes of arriving at the Hoover building; it went unanswered. He couldn't say he was surprised.

_Am I allowed to claim sympathy-pregnancy brain?_

The next text was sent three hours later, and he stared at his phone for five minutes hoping to goad a terse reply denouncing "pregnancy brain" as nothing more than a psychosomatic excuse for a forgetful disposition that was probably pre-existent. Five minutes passed and Booth sighed, accepting that teasing a reaction from her wasn't going to be an option today.

_Meet for lunch?_

He cursed as he hit send on the text, realizing too late that with their breakfast argument so fresh, Brennan was likely to interpret the text as another attempt at control instead of a peace offering.

"No no no no." he muttered to himself, deftly tapping the "cancel" button. But his fingers were a touch too slow; "Message sent" flashed across his screen, and then it went black.

"Damn it."

Booth released a breath and frowned in concentration as he began composing a damage control follow-up text.

_Unless you don't want to…_

Clear.

_I won't say a word about what you order…_

Clear.

_I just want to see you, Bones. I'm sorry._

Before he could hit send, the little envelope indicating a new message appeared in the corner of his screen. Booth exited without bothering to save the draft and opened the text.

_Fuck out._

Booth laughed bitterly to himself and ran a hand over his face, knowing this was nowhere near an appropriate time to correct her. Besides, Fuck out, Fuck off… either way, the 'fuck' part pretty much got the message across. Especially coming from her.

A knock on his door brought him out of his musings and he scowled at the interruption. Agent Thompson lifted his hands in surrender and wasted no time passing on his message; the younger agent recognized an I'm-in-an-ass-kicking-mood face when he saw one.

"Hacker wants to see you in his office, Booth."

With a sigh, Booth tossed the phone into his top desk drawer and stood. She had a doctor's appointment at five thirty… maybe, with a bit of luck, she would be a little more receptive to his company by then. If not, all he could do was hope they wouldn't find themselves in yet another public throw-down at any point between the Jeffersonian and her apartment.

* * *

"What are you doing here?"

"What are _you _doing here?"

For a moment, Brennan looked confused, "I work here." She answered. Then she caught the half-hidden smirk on Booth's face and flushed as she caught on. "I don't have time for games, Booth. I'm quite busy."

"But you have a…" he paused and looked around for eavesdropping squints before he continued, "…an appointment to get to."

"I _know_, Booth." She hissed fiercely. "The reason I'm so busy right now is because I'm delegating. Something that needs to be done if I'm going to successfully make it out of the lab within the next twenty minutes. You know, despite making an absolute _nuisance _of yourself apologizing via text, e-mail, and voicemail today, your present behaviour is strikingly similar to the behaviour for which you are so supposedly apologetic."

Booth threw his arms up in the air without bothering to argue. "I'll just wait for you in your office."

"That would be acceptable, providing you do so silently." She nodded. "And _do not _touch _anything_."

* * *

The tension hadn't lessened in the car. Nor had it faded at all as they waited to check in with reception. Booth supposed he should be content with her fuming silently instead of tearing into him in the middle of the waiting room. Not to say he didn't deserve it.

"Are you nervous?" Booth eventually ventured.

"Why?" She asked absently, her attention focused on the magazine article before her.

"Well, because this is your first ultrasound."

It sounded stupid even to him. Just because he was a bundle of tightly coiled nerves didn't mean she was feeling anything besides anger. At him.

Brennan didn't even look up from the glossy page. "I've had ultrasounds before, Booth. Pregnancy is not the only circumstance that warrants them."

"Well, yeah, I guess. I just meant- it's different this time, you know? Hearing your baby's heartbeat for the first time…"

"The alleged facts provided in this article are erroneous. The information is unsubstantiated and presented without even an attempt at objectivity; if this is the psychological tripe people set their parenting standards by, it's no wonder so many parents manage to do irrevocable physical and emotional damage to their children."

"Let it go, Bones." Booth shifted uneasily as her voice carried throughout the room.

"I'm just saying, people of lesser intelligence are prone to accepting information they read without adequately processing it, or questioning the validity of statements such as this one, where is says-

"It's _Today's Parent_, not a science journal." Booth interrupted as Brennan's speech picked up pace and began drawing attention. "If it's bothering you so much, just put it down."

She broke her gaze away from the magazine and glared at him steadily before huffing, crossing her legs and flipping furiously through the pages. While Booth was trying to decide whether he felt more like laughing or crying, a blue scrubbed technician came around the corner.

"Temperance Brennan?"

"Thank God." Booth muttered.

Brennan cast him a final glare as she stood up and threw the magazine back atop the table.

* * *

"So, do you want me to wait outside while you…" his voice trailed off as he gestured vaguely between his partner and the paper gown sitting neatly on the examination table.

Brennan shot him a look of stark annoyance as she unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor. "Why? Because you're uncomfortable with the measurements of my body? Because you now find me repulsive to look at in addition to being incapable of competently incubating our future child?"

"No! Jesus, Bones!"

"It's perfectly natural, Booth." Brennan began prissily as she tugged her sweater over her head and picked up the gown. "Anthropologically, the male species is hardwired to feel attraction for specific structural measurements in order to procure the survival of their species. For example, when you look at me, you're accustomed to-

"Bones, enough. You're beautiful. You _know _I think you're beautiful. Hell, I hate it every damn time you come by my office because I know every asshole you pass on the way up is thinking about how beautiful you are. I'm _sorry_. How long are you planning on staying mad at me?"

Brennan hopped onto the examination table and settled against its length before folding her arms across her chest and frowning fixedly straight ahead.

Out of the blue, Angela's voice sounded off unbidden in her mind; _sweetie, you're being too hard on him; he's a man. Most of what comes out of his mouth is going to be either stupid or insensitive. Sometimes it's going to be both. He can't help it._

Her frown deepened and she felt another surge of irritation toward her partner. She had never had to deal with her conscience adopting the voices of her friends before she met _him_. Before she could instigate a new argument (just to make herself feel better), the door swung open and her doctor crossed the threshold.

"Temperance?" Brennan nodded curtly, and the woman smiled, ignoring the obvious tension in the room with the practiced ease of someone who knew that the people who found themselves here often weren't as happy as the average person would expect them to be. "And how are we all doing today?"

"Fine." Booth answered with a strained smile, at the same time Brennan replied, "Well, I would have no way of discerning how _you _are presently feeling, but I myself feel fine."

Booth rolled his eyes and shook his head, but refrained from comment. Dr. Patterson followed Booth's lead and chose to simply move on. She let her gaze fall equally on both parties as she explained the procedure, however it was soon clear Booth was the only one listening attentively. Brennan was bored; a sidelong glance in her direction was all Booth required to see that her attention wasn't in the least focused on what the physician was saying. He felt his own irritation building; yes, she was a genius. Yes, ninety eight percent of the time she was far more intelligent than the person talking to her. Yes, her doctor was telling her things she already knew. But damn it, _he _was trying to learn, and she'd been a genius her whole life; you'd think she'd be able to fake paying attention for five minutes.

There was residual anger on both their parts when the jelly was finally spread over her abdomen, but Booth perched himself on a chair beside her and instinctively ran his fingers gently over her arm when she flinched as the cold wetness made first contact with her skin. Despite still being more than a little irritated, he couldn't deny himself that small amount of contact, and he was comforted when she didn't push his hand away the way he knew she would have done if she was still as angry as she was trying to let on.

A few more seconds of silence, a few more seconds of fiddling with the wand over her belly, and then there it was; a constant, quick _whoosh_-ing throughout the room. Loud. Steady. Tangible.

On the monitor in front of Brennan there was a grainy, grey and white picture she should have been able to interpret with ease, but for some reason her vision kept blurring.

Brennan reached for Booth's hand and gripped it tightly, then implored him with wide set, bewildered eyes to please, please explain this excessively emotional reaction she couldn't seem to control. Booth smiled and swallowed the lump in his throat, and as he took in the confusion and the vulnerability in her over-bright eyes, he felt the familiar rush of love she so often unwittingly sent shooting through him.

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss against her temple before whispering into her ear at a volume meant only for her.

"This makes it real in a way that surpasses a few numbers on a lab report after you pee in a cup. That sound? It's a little piece of you and a little piece of me, growing stronger every day, even when you and I want to kill each other. It is okay to love that sound. It is okay to love that picture on the screen… even if you can't, to save your life, make heads or tails of it. Do you _actually _see a _baby _in all that? 'Cause all I can see is static and I am freaking out."

She gave a watery giggle and rubbed her eyes with her free hand. "It's not that difficult, Booth." She said softly.

He smiled again and squeezed her hand. "I look forward to you explaining it to me many times over, Dr. Brennan."

And just like that, they were _them _again.

* * *

When they came to a stop at a red light, Booth took his eyes off the road and turned toward his unnaturally quiet partner. Brennan was thoughtfully tracing the lines of the sonogram with a delicate fingertip, but under the weight of his gaze she lifted her head and smiled reflexively.

"I believe that at this time, I am prepared to allow knowledge of our situation to extend beyond the two of us."

Booth grinned. "You _want_ to tell everyone." He goaded. "You're going to go into 'excited mother-to-be' mode and become one of those women who force pictures on any poor sap that doesn't get away fast enough."

"What? No!" She protested with a frown.

His grin widened; it felt so _good _to tease her after weeks of trying to tread delicately. It felt good to once again feel sure of her feelings. Sure of them.

"You're one step away from being a minivan driving soccer mom, Bones." He continued with a dramatic sigh. "PTA meetings, neighbourhood watch, Tupperware parties..."

"I am not!" Her pitch went up an octave and the slight flush in her face deepened noticeably. "Booth? Booth, I am not!"

The light turned green and Booth focused back on the road in front of him without acknowledging her.

"Booth? Booth!"

"You cried during the ultrasound." Booth sing-songed abruptly, paying no heed to her growing outrage.

This time Brennan reached over the console to punch him in the arm. Hard.

"No I didn't." She argued indignantly.

"Ouch." He rubbed the sore spot on his bicep, but his infuriating smile never wavered. "Pretty sure you did, Bones. You heard that heartbeat and you wept like the hormone-crazed pregnant woman you are."

"That never happened!"

"I know what I saw, Bones."

"You were crying too!" Brennan suddenly remembered triumphantly, "I saw you, Booth."

"Ah ha! _Too_. So you admit it." He waggled his eyebrows comically.

She rolled her eyes and turned toward her window. "You are _so _childish."

The impact of the accusation was somewhat lessened by the lopsided smile she couldn't seem to wipe off her face.

* * *

Up until a year or two ago, Booth could have shot Max many times over for a few of the ways the man had gone about trying to reintegrate himself into his daughter's life. Max had claimed to know Brennan, to understand the way she thought, and yet he had tried to force memories and feelings on her far too quickly for her to know how to handle them. Far too quickly for his attempts to do anything but hurt her. Sear her. And the fact that Max had continuously inadvertently found new ways to damage her had made Booth so angry he could hardly see straight.

But Max had learned to restrain himself. And the more he allowed contact to be made on Brennan's terms (sometimes with Booth's subtle prodding… but her terms nonetheless) the more comfortable the relationship became between the estranged father and daughter. Knowing how much the gesture would mean to Max, Booth (again, subtly) suggested her father be the first person to be informed about her pregnancy. Brennan, while not understanding what difference the order would make, trusted that this was one of those "heart" things Booth knew best, and indifferently agreed.

It took five minutes for Booth to regret not telling Angela first. Or Cam. Or Hodgins. Hell, even Jared. _Anyone _besides her father. He should have known that this was the kind of thing that would require multiple trial runs before they could get from beginning to end without him having to sensor her speech. Unfortunately, none of this occurred to him until it was far too late.

"I am with fetus." Brennan stated factually. Apparently, the uncharacteristic sentimentality induced by the earlier ultrasound had worn off.

Booth, predictably, was instantly horrified.

"_Are you kidding me_? No! Bones!" He brought a hand to his forehead and breathed deeply. He couldn't even look at her right now. "_Child_, Bones, you're with _child_. Jeez."

She shifted slightly to face him, looking very much offended. "I know the traditional expression, Booth. Why do you always assume that I-

"Because you go around saying things like 'fetus'!" Booth exclaimed.

"Well it _is _a fetus!" She defended, "I'm consciously rejecting the societal consensus to accept a phrase so outrageously far from accurate! It's hardly a _child_."

"But he or she _will _be, Bones."

"Ridiculous." She scoffed. "He or she will eventually be an adult, too. I am not going to start informing people that I'm with adult. Although in accordance with your logic, I might as well."

"We're not having this conversation."

"I believe we are. Remember? First I – very accurately – said 'fetus,' and then you said-

"Could you stop? Please?"

Max looked between the two of them incredulously. No matter how many times he found himself phased out of their conversations, the speed at which it always occurred never failed to make his head spin. Just _once_, he'd like to get the whole story in one sitting, minus the dozen side conversations meant for only the two of them that slowed the whole process down to an _agonizing _pace.

He tried to tune out all the nonsense flowing between them at present in order to pick out the important bits that had come before the yelling began. "You're pregnant?" He paraphrased, stunned.

"-my fault that you're intimidated by science!"

"I'm not intimidated! I just think that it wouldn't hurt if you-

"I'm unwilling to _lie _just to assuage your sense of-

Max put two fingers to his lips and released a shrill whistle. Brennan and Booth both jumped and reflexively brought hands up to their ringing ears. Well, good. He shouldn't be the only one in the room with a headache. When they both fixed him with identical blank stares, as if _he _was the crazy one, as if they couldn't for the life of them imagine why his action was called for, Max repeated himself with an equal amount of disbelief colouring is tone.

"You knocked up my daughter?"

Generally, Brennan's father was at the absolute bottom of the list of people around which Booth could even fathom discussing sex, but at Max's tone, Booth found himself too offended to be embarrassed.

"See?" He turned back to Brennan and threw his hands up in the air in outrage. "_See_? I _told _you your dad still kind of thinks I'm gay. It's _not _in my head, Bones!"

Brennan rolled her eyes, "Booth, due to of your catholic, hyper-conservative stances on a great number of topics, you can be quite amusing when someone challenges your beliefs and forces you to acknowledge alternate lifestyles. I'm sure my father believes you to be a stereotypical alpha-male in every sense of the term."

Booth continued to stare at her expectantly, and Brennan sighed before dutifully addressing her father. "While there is absolutely nothing inferior resting within homosexual preferences," she paused to glare pointedly at Booth before returning her gaze to Max, "I feel confident in my belief that Booth is a heterosexual male. Although argumentatively he could be feigning his attraction to me, I find it unlikely given his responses to both oral-

"Bones!" Booth jumped off the couch and his eyes darted wildly between his partner and Max. Oh God. "Christ, that is your _father_, you know? There are boundaries!"

"What, Booth?" She asked exasperatedly, "Why are you yelling at me? You wanted me to clarify!"

He sat back on the couch and shielded his mouth from Max with a cupped hand, initiating a "private" discussion.

"For the rest of this conversation, Bones, you are not allowed to use the words sex, intercourse, coitus, or coupling. Or name any piece of your anatomy – or mine – below the hip region." He paused. "On second thought, make that below the shoulders." Another pause, and then Booth chose the route of optimum safety. Because with Bones, you really could never be too careful. "You know what? No anatomy at all, okay?"

"But what if-

"No. No buts, no exceptions. Keep it "G" rated, alright?"

As the news sunk in, Max watched their exchange with both a strange sort of pride and a twinge of sadness.

Joy Keenan had come into the world early; weeks before she had been expected. He had been scared and Ruth had been scared and the doctors had been grim and the room had been filled with chaos, and then she had arrived with no thought to their concerns of underdeveloped lungs and musculatures and _she isn't __**ready **__yet, god damnit it isn't __**time**_. She had come out screaming, vehemently professing her outrage against the incompetent beings who had all been trying their damndest to keep her back just a little while longer. Indignant and angry that anyone could have doubted she knew what was best for her.

She had loudly voiced her discontent as she was passed from doctor to nurse, as she was weighed and prodded and measured (she had shown everyone that there was absolutely _nothing _underdeveloped about her lungs), and she had quieted only once she had been placed securely in her mother's arms. And Max, as a scientist, had known that it would have been absolutely impossible for her to make out the details of Ruth's face. He had known that the hysteric relief and the tears that poured from his wife – as she looked at their daughter and saw the perfect, unfathomably tiny girl they had come so close to never knowing – would have been nothing but a fuzzy blur to the newborn. And yet, she had settled so _quickly_, that in one of the most irrational moments of Max's life, he had been convinced that she _knew_. That she could sense the exhaustion and the worry she had caused, and that she had felt something akin to apologetic for displaying so much impatience with people who cared about her and simply didn't know her well enough yet to just trust that she would always, _always_ know what she was doing. Seven and a half minutes old, and Max had known she would be smarter than he could ever dream to be. She would be special in a way the world wouldn't understand.

His baby had been fated to perpetual disappointment; she had thrown all of herself into everything that came her way, and she had expected those around her to keep pace. She had been impatient and constantly heartbroken because she had taken it personally when he or Ruth or Kyle couldn't immediately follow her rapid shifts in thought. And so, when Joy was two and a half and could no longer be Joy, Max had insisted, _insisted _on Temperance. Because if she couldn't learn temperance, if she couldn't keep a part of her simply for _her_, she would never be happy in the world she transcended.

Max had abandoned her and she had learned to be temperate in only the crippling ways.

He acknowledged the irony.

Tempe felt too deeply, and so she practiced restraint to the point of appearing cold. And yet, she was with a man who had dragged her kicking and screaming into the messy world that existed outside anthropological, clinical study. He had forced her to be _a part_ of the society she much preferred to observe from an objective distance. And while he would be forever grateful to Booth for slowly repairing so much of the damage he had brought onto his child, she acted impulsively and skittishly and irrationally when her emotions overcame her; out of fear, she lashed out in ways that were often unfair. Somewhere along the road, she had lost a great deal of her ability to compartmentalize. She had come to understand too much of the world outside her lab to wilfully ignore it.

As they shared their news with him (in a convoluted manner that was, in retrospect, so exactly what he should have expected from them) she looked happy. And he knew, with the same absolute clarity that had struck him as his baby girl had taken her first breaths, that she and Booth had a rough road ahead of them. That they would hurt and misunderstand one another in the time before his grandchild arrived in ways that would blindside them both completely.

And for the second time, Max prayed temperance upon his hot-headed daughter, adding an extra few words this time around to include her equally quick tempered partner as well.

* * *

Booth was irritated. Brennan looked at his clenched grip on the steering wheel and absently mused that interpreting the emotions of others would be a much simpler endeavour if she could read everyone the way she could read Booth. She rolled her eyes and stared out the passenger window as he weaved in and out of traffic.

"You were the one who wanted to tell my father first, Booth. You said it would be an appreciated gesture of-

"I know what I said, Bones, okay? I just wasn't expecting you to lead in with 'fetuses' and a play by play of the act of conception."

Brennan rolled her eyes again. "I'm not entirely sure what you mean by 'play by play,' but I do believe you're overreacting."

When he merely shook his head without giving her a return comment, Brennan suddenly grinned widely as she came to the same realization that Booth had reached hours before; things between them had returned to normal.

"I'm glad you're you, Booth." She confessed, blushing lightly at the nonsensical sentence.

But Booth understood; the way he always did. And so when he glanced toward her, all traces of irritation were gone as he smiled. "I'm glad you're you too, Bones."

"Even when I unintentionally try your patience?"

"Even when you unintentionally try my patience." 


	3. Chapter 3

This chapter is brought to you by a combination of Galaxy chocolate, The Who, sleep deprivation, and procrastination. Also, I'm listing this story as in-progress for a while… hopefully I can manage to keep it engaging. I've got bits and pieces for at least two chapters after this one, since my muse tends to only raise her tempestuous head when I should really be focusing on things like, say, exams and final essays. I don't really have a long-term plan in mind, plus my ADD often runs rampant, soo if I start running all over the map, just do me a favour and reign me in. I'm super nervous; can you tell?

* * *

_And I wish I could lay down beside you when the day is done,  
and wake up to your face under the morning sun.  
But like everything I've ever known, I'm sure you'll go one day;  
so I'll spend my whole life hiding my heart away.  
And I can't spend my whole life hiding my heart away._

_**Hiding My Heart Away, **__Brandi Carlile_

Brennan's favourite season was spring. She loved the return of the flowers and leaves, she loved the rain, and she especially looked forward to that first spring day when the temperature rose high enough to open windows and allow clean, fresh air to circulate her home after months of staleness. Everything changed; the rebirth of nature every spring was constant proof of that fact.

As she sat on Booth's balcony, dressed cosily in a lined fall jacket and wool cap, she admitted to herself that Booth's defence of autumn the previous night had merit as well. In the early morning of late October she could see her breath with every slow exhale she released, and even in the polluted city, the burnt oranges and reds that covered the ground added a certain beauty to the surroundings.

Yesterday, Booth had claimed with boyish excitement that fall was his favourite season. All it had taken to inspire him was a walk through a nearby park, and before she knew it he had been enthusiastically kicking through shin-high piles of leaves while professing his love for everything from the naked oak trees to the polluted stream running beside them.

Brennan had refrained from reminding him that he always named winter as his favourite season after the first real snowfall, spring as his favourite season following the arrival of Easter candy, and summer as his favourite season after the first camping trip taken during Parker's break.

She brought her mug to her lips and sipped contently, smiling to herself at the pleasant feel of the warm liquid making its way down her throat while the heated ceramic caused her slightly chilled fingers to tingle. She burrowed further into the chair and tucked the mug between her thighs so that her hands were free to tug the hat down over the tips of her ears. Minute adjustments made, Brennan once again cradled the mug with both hands and drew her legs up into the chair, shifting awkwardly for a few seconds before all her limbs were arranged comfortably. Much to Booth's amusement (not so much hers) the baby bump she sported at twenty weeks was small enough to keep her pregnancy from being immediately noticeable from certain angles, but large enough to force subtle adjustments she didn't always remember to account for until she was clipping herself on furniture corners.

Three police cars raced down the avenue below her, and Brennan automatically glanced at her blackberry despite knowing that if a body requiring her assistance had been found, Booth was only a few rooms away and would have no reason to phone her about it. In the past, the day of the week bringing forward a case wouldn't have made any difference to her, but since growing accustomed to spending weekends with Booth (occasionally Booth _and _Parker), Saturdays and Sundays had begun to hold actual significance. While she still often frequented the lab on weekends when the impulse struck her, or when she felt she was falling behind (or when she was fighting with Booth), on this particular Saturday, as she lethargically basked in the not-quite-morning light and the cool air, Brennan harboured no particular desire to work.

The sliding door behind her began gliding along its track, and Brennan turned her head toward the sound.

"Good morning Booth." She greeted.

Booth yawned and squinted against the bright sky, then raked a hand through hair that was already sticking straight up on one side. "Morning. What are you doing out here?"

He was still in his sock feet and boxers, but he had taken the time to pull on a faded college sweatshirt. The completed look was absolutely ridiculous, yet somehow it made her smile just the same. She reached over and tugged the other chair closer to her side in silent invitation. Booth settled himself into the chair and took the mug from her hands to steal a sip, then he swiftly blanched and handed it back.

"That's not coffee."

"No. It's vanilla oolong tea. I wanted to wait for you for coffee."

"Aw Bones, I'm touched." He grinned.

She beamed back, not entirely sure what significance he had drawn from her action but pleased to see him happy regardless.

Booth blew onto his cold fingers and then rubbed his hands together. "You didn't answer my question. How long have you been out here anyway?"

Brennan hesitated, "Which question would you like me to answer first?"

He rolled his eyes. "It doesn't matter, Bones. Take your pick."

"Okay." She tilted her head, "I have been sitting here for approximately one hour. I woke up feeling exceptionally warm, so I came outside for some air."

Booth crooked an eyebrow. "Seriously? It's freezing inside. Like, barely a couple degrees warmer than it is out here. I was just thinking about turning the heat on."

Brennan shrugged. "I feel comfortable now. Although your present cutis anserina indicates your are feeling much less so."

"Cuticle what?"

"Cutis anserina. Goose bumps, in colloquial terms."

"Oh. No way, Bones. I feel great." He rubbed his hands briskly once again and then clapped them together. "If you're not cold, I'm not cold."

"You can wear my jacket." Brennan offered graciously.

"No, Bones! I'm not taking your jacket. Besides, even if I wanted it I'd be lucky to be able to fit an arm halfway through those sleeves."

She shrugged again and took another sip of her tea. Booth sat back in his seat and stretched his legs straight out in front of him. Brennan shook her head with a smile as she watched him inhale to maximum capacity and stare with fascination at the fog created when he released the breath.

"Do you want to go out for breakfast?" He asked once the novelty of his little game had worn off. "Maybe brunch, depending on how quick we get ourselves in gear."

Brennan shook her head reluctantly, "I was planning to go home after we had a quick breakfast here. I need to go back to my apartment and do laundry."

"You're gonna blow me off for laundry? That's cold, Bones."

She smiled, "I think you'll be fine on your own for a few hours Booth. Besides, _you _are the reason I no longer have sufficient clothing here."

Booth groaned. "I said I was sorry!"

"How one can do laundry without checking all pockets beforehand is beyond my comprehension."

"Well you harping on it all the time isn't going to bring any of your clothes back, is it?" Booth replied grumpily.

Brennan smirked. "Angela says that if I force you to come shopping with me to replace the clothes you ruined, you'll never forget to check pockets for pens and gum again."

"You wouldn't." Booth challenged with only slightly feigned horror.

"If it happens again, I believe I will consider it very seriously."

Booth didn't doubt it for a second. Damn that Angela. He shifted anxiously in his seat as the conversation brought another topic to the front of his mind. There never seemed to be a "right" moment to dive into it, but Booth would have to reluctantly admit to himself that he hadn't exactly been going out of his way to get the conversation started.

Screw it. It was time to grow a pair.

He nervously cleared his throat. "Maybe you should bring _all _your clothes over here."

Her stomach dropped. "What?"

"Or I could bring all my clothes there." Booth rushed on. "Just, maybe all our clothes should be together, you know?"

Brennan squinted, "I don't understand."

"Weshouldmoveintogether." He finished quickly, nowhere near as eloquently as he should have been able to manage considering the weeks he had been working up to this proposal.

Brennan's heart pounded. They spent nearly every night together as it was whether it happened to be at her apartment or his, so why was the thought of one apartment putting her on the cusp of a panic attack? It was the logical thing to do. They would have a baby in under five months' time. Babies needed stability. Shuffling an infant between two homes every few days would be irresponsible, not to mention tiresome.

None of these facts slowed her pulse. Instead she grew anxious as she felt the mounting pressure to respond to Booth in _some _fashion or another.

Too much time had passed for any answer to be smooth. She set her mug on the low table between them and established eye contact. Eye contact would mean something, right? She wanted to tell him that it wasn't that she didn't want to live with him; it was just that she didn't know if she could. She wanted to tell him that cohabitation had been the beginning of the end of her relationship with the last man to convince her that living together would be ideal. She wanted to tell him that they hadn't chosen to get her pregnant, but they could choose to continue living in a way that had been keeping them both very happy for almost a year.

She didn't say any of those things.

Booth's face fell. Part of him had been expecting her to panic, but that didn't make her expression of terror any easier to watch. "It's okay; it was just a thought. You're not ready."

No no no no no. He didn't _get _it. "Booth," Brennan began desperately.

His cell phone vibrated atop the table and Booth gratefully embraced the opportunity to drop his gaze. He picked up his phone from where it rested beside hers and slid it open.

"Booth." He listened intently for some time, making brief noises of agreement or understanding intermittently, and then he delivered a terse goodbye and ended the call.

"I uh, I gotta go." He informed her quietly as he stood, "They need me at the office."

"Booth." She tried again, but the words got scrambled somewhere between her brain and her tongue.

Booth leaned down and placed a slow, gentle kiss on her warm lips. Her frustration mingled with his regret and they were both taken back to a place far behind them when kissing always preceded disaster.

"It's okay," Booth repeated, "I promise it's okay."

He pressed one final kiss against her forehead and then straightened. "I'll see you later."

* * *

Brennan had been waiting at the table for two in the upscale restaurant for some time before Angela breezed through the front door. She exhaled in relief and stood to greet her best friend with a one armed hug over the table.

"Hi."

"Hey Bren, sorry I'm late. My idiot husband decided that today was the perfect day to introduce our two-year-old child to the twisted world of beetle racing; she started putting them in her mouth the moment his back was turned. Shocker, right? You would not _believe _the amount of crying I had to deal with."

They settled into their seats and Angela smiled her thanks at the server pouring water into her glass.

"Poor Merrin. I can see how that could be traumatic."

"Oh, Merrin's fine. I was talking about Jack." Angela said mischievously.

Once their orders had been placed and the menus had been cleared from the table, Brennan dove straight into her dilemma.

"Booth thinks we should live together."

Angela absorbed the outburst with her usual ease. After a millisecond's pause she cocked an eyebrow and grinned slyly at her friend. "Sweetie, you guys have been living together for at least half a year. Probably more."

Brennan frowned, "No, we still have our own apartments, Angela."

Angela stirred her iced-tea and continued to smile patiently. "Do you do your grocery shopping together?"

She paused. "Occasionally; not always. I leave my list pinned to my refrigerator and Booth adds to it when the mood strikes him. Although usually he adds unnecessary items like ice-cream and cookies. He also has an odd affinity for Goldfish crackers… however if you ask him about it he'll insist that he buys them for Parker."

"And you have parking permits for both your lot and his?" Angela gently guided Brennan back to topic before they got stuck on groceries for the next half hour.

"Of course."

"And I _know _you bought a T.V. together for your place."

"Because Booth complained all the time! He can be very difficult to ignore." Brennan defended.

"Like I said, sweetie; you guys have been living together for a while now."

"But it's different, Ange." Brennan tried to explain. But as she attempted to elaborate she met the same metaphoric brick wall she had hit that morning while talking to Booth.

"Take your time, Bren. I've got all day."

She relaxed slightly under the influence of Angela's easy going tone and started from a slightly different direction. "I feel deep affection for Booth."

"I know you do, sweetie. He knows that too."

"I think that maybe I… love, him."

Angela quirked an eyebrow and bit back an amused smile. When Brennan made it this easy, it was barely satisfying taking the wide open shot. Barely. Hell, she was only human; she couldn't just let it slide. "Considering the two of you are having a baby, that's probably a good thing."

"You're making fun of me." Brennan concluded with a frown.

"Just a little bit." Angela comforted. "So why does the thought of living with Booth full time make you so nervous, if you think that you might maybe love him?"

This time the teasing went over Brennan's head and she continued on without protest. "Most of the time I enjoy Booth's company. That being said, there are still occasions when I very much want to hit him. Or possibly kick him in the kneecaps."

At this, Angela promptly began to laugh. She couldn't help herself.

"It's not funny Angela!" Brennan protested, "And while I'm sure Booth would never strike me in anger, I'm fairly certain I sometimes get metaphorically under his skin in a similar manner. Based on these observations, taking away the safety zone created by our individual apartments is inviting problems. And potentially a trip to the E.R."

Angela began to laugh again and then valiantly attempted to turn it into a cough under the weight of Brennan's incredulous expression. "That's completely normal. Well, normal for the two of you, anyway." Brennan continued to eye her dubiously, and Angela sighed. "Okay, when you two do your, 'I'm taking back my bat and ball and I'm going home' routine, how long does it usually last?"

Brennan's face went blank. "What bat and ball?"

Angela gave a self depreciating nod of her head, acknowledging to herself that she should have seen that coming. "Right. Okay, let's try this again. You and Booth have a fight. You reach the point when you want to hit him and he probably can't decide between punching himself or a wall. You go back to your place, and he goes to his. How long before the make-up sex?"

Brennan frowned thoughtfully. "Sometimes it's a matter of hours. Sometimes it takes until the next evening. When it has been more than a day or two, Booth insists on "talking" before we can have sex. Oh, and sometimes we have sex while we're still arguing; does that count?"

"No sweetie; that's angry sex. Totally different, but often even more satisfying."

"Oh. Okay."

Angela reached across the table and rested her hand reassuringly on Brennan's forearm, "It's normal to want and need your own space. It doesn't mean you care for Booth any less, and it doesn't mean the two of you will grow to hate one another by sharing an apartment."

Brennan's face turned hopeful as she absorbed Angela's reassurances, desperately wanting them to be true.

"When Booth pisses you off, there are any number of things you can do in order to cool down; you can go for a run, or hit up a mall… maybe get some work done at the lab. Hell, you don't even need to leave the apartment; you can slam the door to your office and write, you can clean, you can naked-clean if you _really _want to punish Booth… you can do all the things you already do when you're angry. Sharing a place just means that you get to avoid that gross tightening in your chest that you get when you aren't nearly so angry anymore, and you're sitting in your empty, lonely apartment wondering if you've screwed it up for good this time. Wondering if that crappy apartment is all you're going to have from now on. And don't try to tell me you don't know what I'm talking about, Bren, because every woman has done it."

Brennan shifted uncomfortably as Angela's analyses struck slightly too close to home. Confident that she did indeed understand, Angela backed off and gave Brennan time to process.

"You can slam doors or fuck against walls to your heart's content, and then you can ignore him until he's ready to apologize." She winked.

"I do quite enjoy 'angry sex,' as you phrased it, against walls. Sometimes doors." Brennan admitted.

"Of course you do. What girl doesn't?"

* * *

Brennan allowed Angela to drag her shopping – because that was Angela's solution to everything – and afterward she followed Angela home and spent some quality time with her surrogate niece. Because Angela insisted it was therapeutic. Brennan would only admit it to herself and Merrin, but Angela was right; playing with the little girl _did _inexplicably make her feel marginally better. Certainly better than shopping had. She braved an awkward phone call to Booth, and after determining he would be a few more hours yet, Brennan made a final stop at the Jeffersonian. By the time she turned the key in her apartment door it was well past six; she could change, organize her thoughts for the impending conversation with Booth, and meet him at his apartment for dinner.

Her immediate plan of action flew out the window as she closed the front door behind her and took notice of Booth's leather jacket strewn over the back of her couch.

"Hello?" She called as she shrugged off her own coat. "Booth?"

He popped into the main hall from her kitchen and smiled somewhat cautiously. "Hey."

"Hi."

Brennan focused on hanging up her coat in order to give her hands something to do, and once she gathered her courage, she crossed the floor toward him.

Because one of the many things Angela had stressed was that it couldn't always be Booth's job to make the first move; to be vulnerable. It was only fair that she occasionally put her metaphoric heart in his hands as well, even when it was hard. Especially when it was hard.

He was still dressed in the jeans and _The Smiths _t-shirt he had pulled on before leaving his apartment that morning, and she fingered the worn cotton briefly before tilting her head upward and putting her lips determinedly to his.

It said she was trying. It said she wasn't running.

She felt him smiling against her mouth, and by the time she pulled away, Booth's confident smirk had re-established its position on his face.

"Why are you here?" She asked.

"I was going to help you with all that laundry you said you had to do."

"Oh. I finished that before I met Angela for lunch."

"Yeah, I noticed. To be honest, I wasn't sure you'd come back to my place, so I figured I'd intercept you here."

He continued to smile, but Brennan caught the way it wavered slightly.

"You left this morning, Booth, not me." She reminded him softly.

"I know, Bones, and I'm sorry about that. Hey, Parker called and said that his hockey game got rescheduled for tonight… I know it's short notice, but if you're feeling up to it, it could be fun."

"I would enjoy that." Brennan agreed with a nod.

"Great." The genuine smile peeked through once again, and Booth laid claim to her mouth, kissing her aggressively. "I've wanted to do that since I woke up." He admitted in a low tone that made her shiver.

"Booth? You asked me a question this morning…"

"You don't have to worry about that." Booth replied dismissively as he worked a hand under her shirt, running his fingers gently over her stomach while nuzzling her neck. "Parker's game starts at eight; I wonder what we should do with the hour and forty minutes we have before that?"

"But… Booth…" Brennan protested, struggling to remain focused as he began toying with the clasp on her bra, "stop it. Booth I'm trying to engage you in a discussion."

"Oh I'm engaged alright." Booth murmured. He began tugging on her arm. "Come on; we haven't done page 187 in a while."

"Given my current extra weight, that would be difficult." She frowned as she did some mental calculations. But, as Booth continued to drag her down the hallway, she shook her head and redirected her thoughts to the more pressing issue. She could reconfigure the dynamics of the sexual manoeuvre everyone _insisted _on calling 'page 187,' later. "Booth, you said it would be okay, but you are not acting as if you are okay. Why aren't you listening to me?"

"We _are _okay. Doesn't this feel okay?"

Brennan felt that twisting sensation in her stomach that always overcame her when she was faced with either change, or the emotionally unfamiliar. Booth was supposed to want to talk. Booth talked, and _she _distracted _him _with sex so that she didn't have to. _That _was the way it was supposed to go.

"No." She ground her feet stubbornly into the floor and resisted his pull. "No."

There was no single expression she could identify on his face; instead there was a myriad of emotions that changed far too quickly for her to process. In moments of confusion such as this one, Booth was generally the one to break things down for her to a level she could understand. When Booth wasn't available, she had Angela. At the thought of her best friend and the pleasant time she had shared with her earlier, Brennan felt a pang of regret for coming home and walking straight into this uncomfortable situation.

"What are you doing?" She asked softly.

There was so much confusion and hurt in her sea blue eyes, Booth no longer had the heart to try and continue the charade. He sighed and released her hand, then shoved his own deep into his pockets.

"I know I freaked you out this morning. I just… I thought it might make it easier if I tried to pretend it didn't happen, so I borrowed one of your tactics. I guess between the two of us I'm the only one stupid enough to be so easily distracted by sex, huh?"

Brennan's face fell, "Is that all I contribute? Good sex?"

"Oh Bones, no." Booth reassured immediately, cupping her cheek gently in one of his large hands. "Come on, you know me better than that. We're partners, okay? Sometimes I hold your hand, and sometimes you hold mine, and it all works out even in the end. And for the record, sex between us has never been 'good.' We are two exceptionally attractive people who happen to be _awesome _in bed."

He raised both eyebrows expectantly, and Brennan gave a short laugh in spite of herself. "Well, if _you _say so then it must be true."

Booth's brows rose higher, "Was that sarcasm I just heard?"

"It was." She grinned.

"Dynamite."

"I'm sorry I "freaked out" this morning."

Booth frowned and acclimated himself to the shift in topic with practiced ease. "You didn't really freak out per say, Bones; I could just tell I made you uneasy. There's a difference between freaking out and _being _freaked out."

Brennan catalogued this new piece of knowledge and carried on. "You did 'freak me out' slightly." She tongued the new phrase awkwardly. "But it's because I'm very happy, Booth. And I worry that any subtle change will cause irrevocable damage. Happiness is ephemeral; you and I know the truth of that better than most people."

"Bones, yes, no one gets to be happy all the time. And yeah, sometimes it's going to require a little work for us to survive each other, but it's worth risking a rough patch or two."

"How can you know that?"

"Hasn't it been so far? Hasn't it been worth fights over closet space and types of milk and sides of the bed?"

"Those were inconsequential events, Booth." She rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, inconsequential _now_. At the time they led to bigger issues and sparked legitimate screaming matches. We were cruel to each other. You kicked me out of your apartment. It didn't feel so inconsequential then." He took Brennan's reluctant silence as confirmation. "Trust me. Have I ever lied to you?"

She furrowed her brow and irritation replaced the uncertainty in her face. "Yes. In the past two weeks alone you lied about eating my last English muffin, you lied about running that stop sign, _and _you told me that Parker was the one who left that hockey stick in the hall where I tripped over it, when I _know _it was you, because that stick was in no way proportionate to Parker's height."

"Alright fine. Have I ever lied to you about anything important?... On purpose?"

Brennan appeared sufficiently deflated. "No."

"There you go."

Her bottom lip once again found its way between her front teeth, and she toyed with it absently as her thoughts turned over in her head. "I propose we conduct an experiment."

Booth sighed wearily. "What kind of experiment?"

"The kind that would produce results allowing us to conclusively determine the degree of success we can expect from cohabitation."

"Bones." He closed his eyes. It was times like these he really wanted to bash his head against a wall.

She carried on, undeterred as usual. "We attempt to reside permanently in one apartment for the next three months; at that point, we re-evaluate our housing situation. That will leave us an approximate minimum of six weeks to either find a joint residence, or construe a solid schedule that splits time between our two apartments, before I'm due for delivery."

Booth frowned and double checked his addition on his fingers. "Six weeks? You wouldn't be due for eight." Even as the words came out of his mouth, he mentally smacked himself. She wanted to leave their relationship up to scientific chance, and he was questioning _math_?

"Yes, I know. I'm accounting for the possibility of a premature birth. It's unlikely, but I would rather be prepared."

"This is crazy." Booth muttered, running a hand over his face.

"It's a plan." Brennan contradicted. "Please, Booth; I need a plan."

In the time since his clumsy proposal that morning, Booth had promised himself that if he could talk her out of extreme panic, he would force himself to be satisfied with their current fifty/fifty routine for as long as it took. Taking that internal bargain into consideration, agreeing with her now should have been a no-brainer. She was suggesting they officially live together, even if it was on an initial temporary basis.

It was just that the time limit made it seem like an ultimatum that included more than the living arrangements: _prove to me we'll last within the next three months, or else we go back to the beginning_.

Maybe it was unfair, but that was the way it felt. And the amount of pressure that interpretation placed on him was nothing short of overwhelming. But as the silence stretched on and Brennan crossed her arms under her breasts – a gesture that Booth knew preceded a full defensive lockdown – there was only one answer he could give her.

"Okay."

* * *

"Hey! That is in direct violation of the rules!" Brennan protested loudly.

Booth took his eyes away from the ice to glance absently her way, and then he made a lightning grab for her elbow as she began to march forward.

"What do you think you're doing?"

She sent him a blank look that told him she thought the answer should be obvious. "I'm moving closer to the rink in order to put myself within the referee's range of hearing. That monster of a child just ran Parker over, and the referee failed to respond appropriately!"

From his other side, Rebecca laughed, and Booth shot her a warning look that begged her not to encourage Brennan any further.

Of course, Rebecca chose to ignore him. "I am _so _glad you're here, Temperance. I'll come with you."

"Rebecca, you'll do no such thing." Booth said sternly.

"Booth, let go of my arm. Referee!"

Booth's nerves were fraying and he wished for the hundredth time that Rebecca's boyfriend had been able to make the game. Sticking him between two headstrong women who would sooner punch him in the face than heed an order was beyond cruel. He just wanted to watch his son play hockey. Why did everything with these two have to go _just _too far?

"Bones, knock it off! It's done, okay? Watch the game."

Unfortunately, as the unconventional trio focused back on the ice, the same boy made an attempt to knock the young Booth into the boards. When Parker kept his balance, the other child sent him sprawling with a well aimed swing of his stick.

Booth's vehement protest joined Brennan's, Rebecca's, and the other parents from Parker's team as the underhanded move went uncalled. However, the injustice of it all kept Brennan from letting it go after a reasonable amount of time had passed.

"That boy is abnormally large for his age; why is he singling out Parker?"

"Because he's quick." Booth replied distractedly.

"But it's not _fair_. Someone should check that boy's card, Booth. I don't think he's under twelve."

A skinny, mannequin faced woman a few bleachers down turned to face them. "Hey lady, _watch it_. That's my son."

"Body checking isn't permitted until next year for the boys in this division, and slashing is against the rules entirely." Brennan argued. "His conduct is unsportsmanlike. And he is _not _between the ages of nine and eleven; he should not be playing on that team."

"He's tall for his age; so what? Just 'cause your sissy kid-

Alright, now Booth was irritated. But before he could open his mouth and attempt to simultaneously defend his son and defuse the escalating situation, Rebecca slipped into mother bear mode.

"Listen bitch-

"Who's the bitch?"

"I believe you are the bitch." Brennan clarified helpfully. "Rebecca maintained direct eye contact the entire time she was speaking… I don't see how you could have reasonably experienced any confusion over the matter."

"I'll kick your ass." The woman threatened.

Immediately coming to Brennan's defence, Rebecca took a step forward. Booth grabbed her arm in much the same way he had grabbed Brennan's not five minutes ago. "Don't even think about it. Behave yourself."

"Stop man-handling her, Booth."

"_Let go_, Seeley."

It was Dante's ninth circle of hell; he was surrounded by ice, and he wasn't going anywhere.

Booth reached his breaking point. He relinquished his hold on Rebecca – since he knew for a _fact _the woman wasn't above twisting his nipples like a twelve year old – and then he fixed his attention on bottle-blondie. He was past diplomacy. He just wanted everyone to shut the hell up.

"Look, ma'am, _both _these women have what you might call, 'anger management issues.' This one is a martial arts expert, not to mention a little hormonal, and _this _one, well, she ripped a toaster oven out of the wall and threw it at me once when I came home with white bread instead of brown." He pointedly ignored the background inputs of, _I was __**pregnant, **__Seeley_, and, _the nutrients found in whole wheat flour significantly outnumber the nutrients that survive the bleaching process involved in the creation of white flour_, and continued on. "My point is, challenging them would be a very, very bad idea. I suggest you just… Go Parker! GO!"

Palpable tension forgotten, Booth watched Parker race down the ice and deftly spin around the eleven year old on steroids. The woman turned back to the ice to observe the action, and Rebecca and Brennan cheered loudly beside him. His kid was _flying_. As Parker approached the crease, he made a split second decision and shot off a blind pass to his right. His fellow forward received the pass and tucked the puck neatly into the bottom right corner of the net before the goalie had a chance to get his bearings.

"YES!"

Parker and his teammate raised their sticks in victory and received the expected excited tackles from the rest of their team, then they did a lazy circle back to their half of the ice. He searched the crowd for his far-from-nuclear family, and he waved a gloved hand frantically when his eyes found them.

The three adults waved back exuberantly, and Brennan and Rebecca shot the hockey mom from hell identical gloating smirks when she dared to look in their direction. Booth observed the exchange and rolled his eyes, but when Brennan turned and excitedly threw her arms around his neck, he couldn't help but grin.

* * *

After the celebratory hot chocolate purchases (Parker's contained extra whipped cream, _and _his parents had reluctantly allowed him to add an additional sugar packet because it "tasted better that way") the Booth/Stinson and Booth/Brennan parties exchanged hugs and parting pleasantries, then went their separate ways. Showstopping assist notwithstanding, Parker had to get up early the next morning for practice.

Brennan's energy continued running high long after they pulled out of the rec centre parking lot. Booth listened to her chatter with a smile; the knowledge that she had learned hockey's rules and terminologies inside and out in order to better appreciate Parker's games, warmed his heart.

"That was an extraordinarily selfless act on Parker's part; he sacrificed personal glory for a scoring opportunity with a greater chance of success, even though his odds of obtaining that goal on his own were significantly high to begin with. He is a true team player."

"He plays smart." Booth beamed with fatherly pride.

"You would not have made that pass." Brennan said with certainty.

He shot her an annoyed sidelong look. "I might have, Bones. You don't know that."

"I know that if you believed you could make a shot, you would take it without a second thought."

"Well, if I _knew _I could make it, then yeah, why wouldn't I? I mean-

"I would like to begin our experiment in a timely fashion. Tonight, if possible."

Booth looked at her incredulously, "You want me to move all my stuff into your place _tonight_?"

Brennan shifted in her seat, "While I admit that initially, my desire was for the experiment to be conducted in my apartment, I have changed my mind. I now feel I would be comfortable moving in with you for our trial period."

Booth eyed her dubiously. "My apartment's smaller than yours. You love your place."

She shrugged. "We currently spend weekends at your apartment because there are rare occasions when you go more than two weeks without seeing Parker, and subsequent occasions when you have him up to four weekends in a row. You like to be prepared for the possibility of his presence, and I respect that. At the game tonight I realized that I had failed to account for Parker when I originally entertained the idea of an experiment."

"You're willing to move into my apartment – which is a closet, compared to yours – for three months exclusively, just for me." He concluded with a smile.

"And for Parker." She added. "It would be unfair to uproot him twice within a matter of months."

Surprise passed over Booth's face, but a quick glance at Brennan told him she hadn't taken active notice of her comment.

She wanted this to work. She was _expecting _this to work; even if she couldn't consciously admit it yet.

Moving Parker's room to Brennan's apartment would require uprooting him once; even if Booth hypothetically moved them back to his apartment at the end of the three months, it wouldn't be uprooting Parker so much as returning him to an older, well established routine. No; the only scenario that would require uprooting Parker twice, would be moving him to Brennan's, and then moving him into another new space after he had settled.

Bones was making decisions based upon the success of an experiment they hadn't even started yet.

Booth reached across the console for her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing her slender fingers gently.

"What was that for?" Brennan asked once her hand was back in her own lap.

"Nothing. I just love you."

* * *

_About the checking… Canada (or, Ontario, at least) changed up the rules a few years back so that body checking gets introduced at the Atom level (9/10 yrs). I wasn't sure if that applied to the States as well (since it's not even like that everywhere here), so I took creative license and blurred the division age and checking lines a bit to make things work with Parker's age. To any hockey fanatics out there, I apologize. In my defence, I'm a girl; the rules are stupid and since body checking never applied to me, I paid little attention to when it officially began for the more fortunate kids of the male variety._


	4. Chapter 4

Sigh. This chapter/next kicked my butt seven ways to Sunday. Uncool. I joined a Bones forum in hopes that I would give myself something to do besides stare at my choppy word documents while mentally screaming obscenities at myself, but I'm awkward and also kind of a coward so I ended up lurking a lot more than posting… which ultimately only lead to more mental self depreciation. Fail. I'm asking that you just… bear with me on this one, okay? I couldn't find a way to fluidly skip from Chapter 3 to the stuff I already had written, so I had to create a bridge chapter of sorts. And then... I don't know what happened. I couldn't quite find my stride this time around. Chapter 5 will be a continuation of this chapter (to be posted MUCH sooner than this), Chapter 6 needs some tweaking, Chapter 7 will need to be split into two parts (but is totally finished), and that eighth will be the end. Special thanks for the PM that hussled me into action by calling me out on ceasing to post as soon as I moved the story from "complete" to "in-progress." You were kind of mean, but in a totally witty and hilarious way. I respect that.

In less depressing news, how beautiful was episode 9? It was so different, and satisfying, and _real _in a way that surpassed the fragments of heartwrenching awesomeness that have only touched down for the briefest of moments thus far this season. The only thing that really made me bristle was the, "This is my associate, Dr. Brennan." bit. I mean, seriously? But, whatever. I was sufficiently compensated by everything else.

* * *

Look at us spinning out  
in the madness of a rollercoaster;  
you know you went off like the devil in a church  
in the middle of a crowded room.  
All we can do, my love, is hope we don't take this ship down.

**The Space Between, **Dave Matthews Band

_They've been together two months. They've been sleeping together seven weeks and four days. Approximately. It may seem odd that given their lines of work it has taken this long to hit this particular roadblock, but as Brennan and Booth make eye contact over the table, they realise the last few months have been relatively simple, work-wise. Open and shut cases where the motives are clear and cold; money, jealousy, power. It's been months since they've dealt with children and it really doesn't ever get easier._

_As the team nurses drinks around their table and the bar hums with life there's a general resentment toward the other patrons who have no idea how bleak the world they live in is; patrons who will never understand the sacrifices made by the five individuals among them in order to keep them safe. But more than that Brennan is watching Booth and wondering if she should approach him the same way she always has or if something different, something __**more **__is expected of her since they're now undeniably a couple. _

_Booth, deep in his own dark thoughts, is thinking about how little he wants to be sitting here with all these people when he can practically hear his own apartment and his own easy chair and his own scotch calling to him from across town. He's noticed Brennan staring at him – of course he has – but he's been pretending not to notice because there's a little part of him that wishes they weren't together – just for tonight – so that he could tell her frankly that right now he needs both time __**and **__space without hurting her feelings. _

_Her fingers come in contact with his beneath the table – neither of them are quite sure if she's offering reassurance or seeking it – and he squeezes them back, but he lets go as soon as he can and takes a pull of his lukewarm beer. When an appropriate amount of time passes he stands and says his goodbyes and then makes a break for the exit._

_He's well on his way down the street before he hears heels clicking behind him and immediately recognises the lilting gait as belonging to his partner. He slows down but doesn't stop right away, even though he knows that he should. While he's still working his way up to turning around and facing her, her voice hits his back._

"_It's a very long walk back to your apartment, Booth."_

_This __**does **__make him stop. Because he's completely forgotten that they took her car over here. He wonders how far he would have walked before he remembered that fact had it not been for her interruption._

_He turns. "I don't think I'm going to be very good company tonight, Bones." _

_Being gentle takes more energy than he has in him right now, and the words come out considerably gruffer than he intends. Her face falls and he feels bad because she's trying her best to be a good partner/girlfriend, but all he can see is a six-year-old's broken body and the only thing that could possibly make him feel better right now would be talking to his son, but given the late hour that's not going to happen. He's going to have to settle for scotch and his bed._

"_What should I do, Booth? Tell me what to do to help, and I'll do it." _

_There's a pleading quality to her voice that she doesn't really appreciate, but since this is about Booth's feelings and not hers, she chooses not to dwell on it._

"_I'm just going to go home and go to bed, okay, Bones? Tomorrow's a new day. I'll see you tomorrow."_

_She – justifiably – feels dismissed and the knot grows in her stomach as he turns his back to her and continues walking down the street with his head down, but they're still so new and she's still so afraid of ruining them she can only clench her coat with her fists and watch as he disappears._

_The next day, Booth knocks on her front door instead of letting himself in while she's drinking her morning coffee, and he offers her a banana nut muffin with a regret-laden twist of his mouth and waits for her okay before he crosses the threshold. They sit in restorative silence at her kitchen table; he picks at his Danish and she carefully pulls the top off her muffin, places it on a plate, and begins nibbling at the base. They sip their coffee intermittently, and they never speak of the night before – or the case – again._

* * *

Brennan woke up feeling energetic and instantly alert; in recent months she had made the frustrating discovery that, while she was still – for the most part – quite capable of forcing her body to adhere to her demands, it took considerable more effort than she was used to putting forth. The fluctuations in her energy levels irritated her, so simply waking up on her own accord – in the manner to which she had been accustomed before this pregnancy – put her in an instant good mood. She stretched slowly and methodically worked out the kinks in her lower back; it was dark outside, but it was mid November so that was hardly out of the ordinary. It was rarely more than predawn light until she and Booth were finishing breakfast and minutes away from leaving for work.

She shifted to turn off the alarm clock – given Booth's history with them she felt comfortable assuming he would much prefer to be woken by her when the time came – and she frowned at the blue numbers glowing 4:15am. That couldn't be right. She reached for her cell phone to check the display, and she was faced with an identical set of numbers as well as three missed texts from Angela.

_I know you think anniversary celebrations are a waste of time, but humour Booth if he goes all out tomorrow, okay sweetie?_

_And for God's sake, stop freaking out about the present. It's a good gift, Bren. If you don't follow through with this I will slap your pregnant ass silly._

_Details on the anniversary sex over lunch?_

Brennan cleared the alerts without bothering to respond to any of them, and she was once again faced with the digital clock. Eventually her furrowed brow smoothed and she merely shrugged; regardless of the time, she was awake, and she wasn't going to waste this current burst of energy by trying to sleep another two and a half hours. Especially not today. Yesterday had marked three weeks of cohabitation without killing one another, and she almost felt that was more deserving of celebration than the one year milestone. With a crooked, mischievous smile, Brennan pushed off the comforter and leaned over Booth, supporting herself on her knees and forearms.

"Booth."

When he didn't respond, she shuffled down slightly and positioned her mouth directly over his ear. "Booth."

After seconds of her face being millimetres from his own, Booth's breathing changed and Brennan frowned as it became clear to her that he was now simply ignoring her. Not easily deterred, she straddled his torso.

"Booth."

Booth groaned. "For crying out loud, Bones." Without opening his eyes, he tilted his hips sideways and tipped her off his body and back to the mattress. His victory was short-lived, however, when she climbed back on top of him before he could turn onto his side.

Christ, the woman was a pit-bull.

He cracked an eye open and peered at her with blurred vision. "What?"

"Today is our first anniversary. Angela informs me that it is of the utmost importance that we start the day off with intercourse."

Booth sighed and began to shift again, and Brennan clamped her thighs around his hips to keep him from dislodging her. "Ow, easy! I just want to see the time!"

"It is slightly earlier than you will appreciate." Brennan confessed.

Booth stared at the glowing numeric digits incredulously. "Slightly earlier than- Bones, I'm going back to sleep. Get off me."

"But I'm awake. I'm ready to start the day."

"Of course you are; you passed out at like, six o'clock last night." Booth replied exasperatedly. "You slept at least ten and a half hours."

"What? No I didn't."

"Yes, you definitely did. You didn't even eat dinner. We came home, I went to get changed, and when I came back out you were sleeping on the couch. I carried you in here."

A reflexive, vehement denial was on the tip of her tongue before she found herself temporarily distracted by the overwhelming warmth of the bedroom. She and Booth had been engaged in a battle of wills of sorts for the past few weeks regarding the position of the thermostat, and yes, maybe her body was running a little warmer than usual, but right now it felt like the beginning of August as opposed to mid November, and that was ridiculous. Brennan was preparing to change the topic of argument in order to address the more pressing issue of her current discomfort, but as she placed her hands on her hips her attention was drawn for the first time to her unusual state of dress. She tugged experimentally on the impractical piece of lingerie, and then the sound of her immediate laughter was loud and uninhibited.

"What, what is this?" She asked when her breath allowed it.

The short blue negligee wasn't really meant for sleeping in, and it was tight, but not as tight as it should have been considering her pregnancy. But none of that was as weird as the thick cotton sweater that had been pulled over the ensemble. When she felt beneath the sweater and realized that the reason the sexy lingerie wasn't suffocating her was because Booth had left the back entirely unzipped, she began to laugh even harder.

"Well, you moved all the drawer stuff around, Bones!" Booth said defensively, "I couldn't find your normal night clothes. And it felt presumptuous leaving you naked and creepy putting sexy slip things on you when you weren't conscious, so I covered you up…"

He flushed a decidedly unmanly pink as she continued to laugh.

"…Fine. You know what? Next time I'm leaving you in your work clothes. I'm not even taking your shoes off."

He again tried to tip her off his body, but she laughed and leaned forward to place a placating kiss on his lips.

"It was very sweet." She managed to keep from laughing, but her wide smile said that it wasn't easy. "Thank you."

Booth finally smiled and accepted that his sleep window had closed for the night. "So, what else did you and Angela scheme up for today?"

"Well, firstly, the intercourse."

"Yep. I got that."

Brennan shrugged. "That was Angela's only suggestion that appealed to me. She says that gifts should be exchanged over dinner, but I selected my token of affection for you very carefully, and I would prefer to exchange them now. Well, after intercourse."

Booth laughed, "You're pretty fixated on that intercourse, huh?"

"It's been nine days since the last time that we had sex."

"Don't look at me like it's my fault. You're the one who keeps falling asleep all the time."

Deciding that she was more than done with talking about sex instead of having it, Brennan pulled off the creatively selected nightwear and removed herself from atop Booth just long enough to shed her panties. Booth quickly followed her lead.

They took their time – because it was four o'clock in the morning and Booth refused to do it any other way, no matter how eager she was – and when she had finally had enough, Brennan assumed control and lowered herself onto him, eyes closed. When she opened her eyes, Booth was staring up at her with an expression she couldn't quite read.

"What?" She asked softly, beginning to rock her pelvis in slow circles.

"You're so beautiful."

She stopped moving and tilted her head. "You've seen me naked before. _Many _times before. Why are you looking at me as if this is new?"

"Because _this _is." He transferred one hand from where it gripped her hip to rest against her stomach.

"Is this a previously undisclosed fetish of yours?"

"No! It's just that, there's a bit of me in there, you know?"

"Yes, I know." Brennan grinned with a pointed shift of her hips.

"That's not what I- okay you know what? Moment's passed. You killed it."

He rolled them over so that he was on top, and she emitted a delighted laugh.

* * *

Their respective phones began to ring before they had time to even start breakfast, and after throwing coffee in travel mugs and fixing bagels, the partners rushed out to their newest crime scene with practiced efficiency.

When the vehicle came to a stop in a field not far from the crime scene tape, the two partners exited their doors and met at the back. Booth popped the trunk, and while Brennan donned her boots and jumpsuit, he took the opportunity to grab her case.

"I can carry my own kit, Booth." She stated as she tugged the zipper up under her chin.

He might have argued, but a fellow agent spotted the two of them before they crossed the barrier and did an interception, and Booth wordlessly handed over her kit.

"Booth."

"Richards."

"Some dog brought a piece of the body out to his owner… we found the rest of them a little ways into the marsh."

"Them?" Booth bristled.

The agent nodded grimly. "Two, so far. They've been in the water a while; there's not much left of them."

By now they had reached the bodies lined up on the snow dusted grass, and Booth's heart lurched. He heard Brennan's soft intake of breath beside him, but by the time he looked in her direction she had schooled her features into an impassive blank slate. She squatted beside the nearest of the tiny skeletons and gently tilted the skull toward her.

"They both appear to be between the ages of eight and eleven. Both male." She listed off her preliminary findings with clinical detachment, and then her jaw snapped shut and she stood quickly. "Who laid out these remains?"

Booth stepped forward. "What's wrong?"

Brennan placed her hands on her hips. "The markings on the wrists suggest they were very tightly bound until recently. Who removed the bindings?"

A nearby technician overheard the irritated demand and rifled through the evidence bags until he found the tagged pieces of chicken wire. He passed them off to Booth and then wisely made himself scarce.

"They're right here, Bones. Tagged and catalogued the way they should be. No one broke protocol."

Her eyes flashed briefly before she corrected the display of emotion and became stone faced once again. "Why am I even here? Why do I waste my time coming to these crime scenes when people _insist _on touching things before I arrive?"

"Lower your voice." Booth commanded tersely. "They're doing their jobs. Let them do their jobs, and you do yours. Focus on these kids. It's all going back to the Jeffersonian anyway."

"My job is to identify these _skeletal remains_. And my ability to quickly do so is being impeded by-

"Stop it."

She glowered, because she was just itching for a fight to distract her from the hate and misery she hadn't quite locked away yet, and he glared back, because he was pissed at the universe as well and _he _wasn't allowed to start yelling at people for no good reason just to make himself feel better.

With a defiant glare – as if he wasn't already exactly aware of how upset she was – Brennan went back to doing her job (as outlined by Booth) and Booth took a step backward to give her a sense of space.

"Do you remember what happened here at this mall during the summer maybe four, five years ago?" Booth suggested slowly.

Brennan was now deeply absorbed in her process and didn't look up, but she did grace him with a slightly distracted answer. "You're being very vague, Booth."

"Five boys went missing between June and August, all while shopping with a parent, all without a single clear shot of the abductor being caught on any camera…"

"Oh. Yes, I remember." She carefully lifted a bone fragment off the tarp, and Booth obligingly handed her an evidence bag before she could request one. "It was a security guard who worked in the mall. Highly unintelligent."

"Intelligent enough that no one ever found the bodies." Booth said impatiently, unwilling to spell it out for her, yet still expecting her to eventually figure out what he was implying.

"Well, shooting oneself after successfully hiding five bodies, that hardly suggests…" she finally raised her head to stare up at him, "… you're speculating that these could possibly be the remains of those missing children."

"Now she's got it."

She shot him a withering look but refrained from engaging. Long after her attention had turned back to the skeletons Booth's continuing stare remained in her peripheral vision, and she received the impression he either had something he wanted to say, or he was waiting for a signal of sorts. Unaware of what he expected from her and uncomfortable with his steady gaze, Brennan stubbornly ignored his presence until he drifted away to question the jogger and enabled her to finally concentrate.

The day steadily became worse. Over the course of the next few hours, two more bodies were pulled from the water, and a thick combination of anger and sadness threatened to suffocate everyone at the scene. There was little work Booth could do once the witness had been interviewed and he had touched base with the other law enforcement personnel. He continually harassed her for details about the bodies and pressured her for identifications, and never before had she so badly wished she could give them to him if only just to get him out of her personal space for long enough to take a breath. After the third time he interrupted her in as many minutes to ask if she had found anything interesting, Brennan snapped and told him to go guard something. _Anything_. Preferably a considerable distance from her. There was quiet after that.

After a total of five hours, Brennan protectively watched as the bodies were loaded into a vehicle; once it finally disappeared into the distance toward the Jeffersonian, she and Booth were alone. She began the short walk back to Booth's SUV and listened to her partner update Cam over the phone behind her, and by the time she was buckled into her seat, the minimal conversation between them ceased altogether. They had both apparently opted to follow the, "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all," school of thought. Neither Booth nor Brennan had the energy or desire for a fight, but no comments came to either of their minds that wouldn't immediately start a war.

* * *

When Booth picked up the cordless phone from the living room, Brennan moved to the kitchen and began to organize the paperwork adorning the kitchen table. Booth watched her shuffle the work into two equal piles with great diligence, and then float about the kitchen fixing tea for herself and coffee for him. She was so much more sensitive to her environment than she gave herself credit. Than even _he _oftentimes remembered to give her credit. She was giving him the space he needed to call his son, and any way one spun it, since he hadn't mentioned any such thing to her, her actions required an intuitive leap of sorts.

He dialled the number and paced restlessly behind the couch as he waited for someone to pick up.

"Hello?"

"Hey Becks." Booth picked a photograph up from a low shelf, turned it over in his hand, put it back and resumed pacing. "How's it going?"

"I'm alright. You don't sound so great though."

"I'm fine." He absently straightened the key hooks by the door. "I just wanted to talk with Parker for a little bit. If he's around."

"Rough day?"

Booth swallowed at Rebecca's sympathetic tone and briefly stopped fidgeting with the books lining the shelves of the far wall. "Yeah, you could say that."

"I'm sorry." Came the sincere reply. "Hold on a second, Seeley; I'll get him."

Booth established a pattern between the front and balcony doors as he listened to the muffled sounds of Rebecca travelling through her house in search of their son, spinning lampshades and fiddling with anything he could wrap his fingers around along the way.

"Hello?"

"Hey buddy." Booth said brightly. The normalcy was feigned, of course, but somehow it was less so already than it had been while he had spoken with Rebecca. Just that one word was enough to restore a little bit of the life force he had felt draining out of him. He loved his son. And as long as he had this job he could _never _take Parker's existence for granted.

"Hey dad. What's up?"

"Oh nothing much; Bones and I just came home from work and I felt like checking in with my favourite eleven year old."

"You don't even know any other eleven year olds." Parker said, and Booth smiled as he envisioned his not-so-young son rolling his eyes dramatically.

"That's beside the point, bub. So, what awesome things did you do today? Tell your old man everything."

"Well, at school today, during recess, my friend Alex and I found this- … actually wait; did you say that Bones is there? Like beside you?"

"Well, she's not _right _beside me; she's in the kitchen." Booth answered confusedly.

"Can you find her and put me on speakerphone? I want to make sure she hears this too. She knows everything."

By now there was a genuine smile stretched across Booth's face. "I know things too, Parks. Lots of things. What are you trying to say?" He teased.

"It's a science question, dad. Last time that you said we didn't need Bones' help to do my project you just had to call her later anyway. Are you in the kitchen yet?"

Booth laughed as he rounded the corner into the kitchen, and Brennan looked up quizzically from the form she had been signing.

"Apparently, my kid thinks you're somehow more qualified to answer his science questions than I am."

She recognized the joke for what it was and smiled back. "Well I do have multiple doctorates." She reminded him.

"Here we go with the doctorates. See what you've done, Park? Hold on."

Booth removed the kitchen phone from its cradle and inserted the one in his hand into the stand in its place. Immediately, the kitchen was filled with the slightly tinny sound of Parker's laughter.

"Hi Parker." Brennan smiled. Her eyes were bright and Booth noticed that she put down her pen and gave his son her full attention much faster than she would have done for anyone else interrupting her mid task. Himself included.

"Hey Bones. Okay, so at recess, my friend Alex and I found this _huge _gross bug, and we thought that it was dead but then Alex poked it with a stick and it moved, so I stayed and watched it while Alex went and got a jar, and then we caught it and now we're taking turns bringing it home."

While Brennan frowned, concerned for the life of the insect the two boys had caged, Booth gave Parker the response she supposed the boy expected.

"That's so _cool_."

"I know! But I've been looking through this book I borrowed from Dr. Hodgins, and I can't find it anywhere. So I thought maybe if I showed it to Bones, she would know the answer."

"Well, while Dr. Hodgins is the credited entomologist, I will certainly do my best to help." Brennan replied hesitantly. Booth gave her an encouraging smile and she continued on with confidence. "We can enlist his assistance if I encounter any difficulty."

"Awesome. _Mom!_" Parker bellowed, "_Mom! I need to use your phone!_"

A few seconds later Rebecca's voice entered into the background, admonishing Parker for the indoor use of his outdoor voice. Parker made an exasperated reply, and Booth and Brennan patiently endured a good deal of back and forth before Rebecca finally surrendered her cell.

Once Brennan received the photo text it was discovered that she actually _wasn't _familiar with the insect, and couldn't narrow it down any further than "beetle;" a development that delighted Booth to no end. But, as promised, Brennan forwarded the photo to Hodgins along with Parker's request.

Satisfied, Parked turned the conversation to a spelling test, a history movie, and a supply teacher who had made Wendy Truman cry – but it was okay, because she had (apparently) deserved it. By the end of the conversation Booth was sitting on the counter behind Brennan – still, at last – and the crushing weight on his chest had settled to a manageable ache that he knew wouldn't entirely disappear until the case was solved.

* * *

They had both staked out a corner of the couch; backs against the plush arms, bodies and legs facing one another, entangling over the middle cushions. Booth looked up from the stack of crime scene photos in his hand and watched Brennan make a note on the legal pad resting atop her knees before she reached for a highlighter on the coffee table. Her back arched and her t-shirt inched upward, exposing a rounded section of fair skin. He smiled softly as she retrieved the highlighter, tugged at her shirt, and squirmed against the constraining waist of her jeans, trying to find the exact comfortable position she had been sitting in before she had so foolishly moved.

There was no missing her pregnancy now. She had never explicitly tried to hide it, but she was so tall and lithe that her gradual belly had been fairly subtle. It was only within the last two weeks that the weight she had been gaining had finally begun to disperse itself further than her breasts. And thank God for that; her increase in cup size had become an outright distraction.

He felt her piercing gaze, and as he raised his eyes to meet hers he realized he had been openly staring for longer than he had thought.

"What?" She demanded self-consciously.

Booth smiled. "You're pregnant."

"I believe that was established months ago."

"I know, but you can tell now. I mean, you could tell before, but now you can _really _tell."

Brennan rolled her eyes. "Thanks, Booth."

He smirked, admitting that his words had been less than sensitive but not offering an apology as it was clear to him that she was far from genuinely offended.

She tossed her papers onto the coffee table. "I would like to take a brief break and give you your anniversary gift."

Booth's eyebrows lifted in surprise that the suggestion had come from her and not him. "Oh. Alright."

They swung their legs to the floor, and Booth headed for his – _their _– bedroom while Brennan disappeared into the hall closet.

She retrieved a small envelope from the second highest shelf and returned to the couch, sitting cross-legged against the arm and twisting the envelope nervously in her hand as she waited for his return. Booth was a romantic; he expected them to celebrate these dates even though she took far more pleasure in the natural, every day aspects of their relationship. However, she had very much wanted to give him something that would show him she appreciated the change as much as he did. And when she had thought of a gift that was both pleasant and sincere, she had consulted Angela (for a second opinion on its appropriateness) and then made a final decision. The decision had seemed sound at the time, but in the face of Booth's impending approval or rejection, she wondered if perhaps she should have gone with something safe like socks or a tie or maybe a really big television.

Booth returned toting a sizeable gift box adorned in sparkling yellow paper and topped with a white bow.

Brennan froze. She _definitely _should have gone with the television. What use was Angela if she couldn't keep her from making monumental mistakes like this one?

He leapt excitedly over the end of the couch and landed in a cross-legged position similar to hers. "Here." He thrust the package toward her. Brennan made no move to take it.

"I'm experiencing guilt in regards to our decision to take a break from work we only recently started." She stalled. "Perhaps it would be prudent to wait until tomorrow evening."

That would give her time to enlist Angela's help in finding a real present.

"No way, Bones. Come on; take it."

Reluctantly, Brennan stretched out her hands and took possession of the box, but under its surprisingly light weight, she frowned. Distracted by the mystery of it all, she temporarily forgot her concern regarding the potential inadequacy of her own gift and she neatly undid the ribbon and pulled off the top.

The oversized box was as empty on the inside as it had felt in her hands. Her head snapped upward to find Booth doing his best not to laugh.

"You tricked me!" By the time Brennan found her voice, she was so worked up she was close to stuttering.

"You should have seen your face!" He finally allowed the fit of laughter to escape. "Be honest, Bones, if I had gone to grab us coffee or another file or something, how fast would you have been out of here?"

She blushed furiously and racked her brain for a sufficiently witty response, and she experienced one of those moments she had tried to explain to Angela where she so badly wanted to kick a kneecap.

"That was _not _funny."

"Are you kidding me? That was hilarious!"

As her outrage increased and Booth began to fear she might throw the box at him, he sobered and leaned forward to take it out of her hands. Just in case.

"Did you really think I would do that to you?" He asked.

"Well," she fumbled, "I know that these dates mean a great deal to you, and-

-and I know exactly how uncomfortable they make you." Booth finished gently. "I love you. And I like taking you out to dinner and coming up with fun dates, but it's only fun for me if you're enjoying it. If I see something that makes me think of you, then yeah, I'm going to buy it, but it's because _I _want to and I'm hoping it will make _you _happy."

He took a chance and reached for her hand, grinning when she accepted the gesture. "This is our first anniversary, and I know you tend to freak out a little about 'first' anythings. Consider this one your free pass. And you better embrace it, Bones, because next year you're not getting off so easily. Next year I'm pulling out all the stops." He winked.

"We will have a small child by this time next year, Booth." Brennan stated.

Booth shrugged. "We've got tons of babysitters to choose from; you _know _Angela would love to be a part of something like that. And there's always Sweets; I'm sure he'd be glad for the part time job. Get it? 'Cause he's twelve?"

Brennan rolled her eyes and shook her head ruefully, and then she settled back in her seat, markedly more relaxed.

Booth reached into his back pocket and withdrew an envelope the approximate size of the type that held cards in flower arrangements. "Here." Brennan eyed him suspiciously and he chuckled. "No games this time. I promise."

She narrowed her eyes dubiously but flicked the envelope open regardless. Inside there was a picture of a rocking chair that looked as if it had been torn from a catalogue of sorts. A closer examination revealed it to be the exact rocking chair she had seen in the department store she and Booth had visited a few weeks ago, when they had attempted to buy a new toaster together following an "accident" Parker had had with the old one. Booth had insisted on taking a look at the baby things – even though she had insisted they still had months before that was necessary – and the chair had reminded her so much of the one she remembered her mother using, she hadn't been able to brush it off.

She made eye contact with Booth and struggled to interpret the meaning. "You are giving me this picture as a symbol of the good memories we will impart on our future child?" She guessed weakly.

Booth laughed. "You are _brutal _at psychology. No, Bones. The actual chair is your present. It seemed to mean a lot to you. They didn't have any left in stock when I went back, so I ordered it, but it didn't get here in time."

Brennan stared at the glossy photo and thought to a lifetime ago when her mother had sat with her in that chair; to when her mother had read to her when she was sick and rocked her gently when she had cried because the other children at school ignored her and thought she talked funny. It had been a very good chair.

"So? Do I pass?" Booth prompted.

Brennan smiled and leaned forward to thankfully kiss his cheek. "You pass with a lot of colour."

Her eyes twinkled and Booth grinned at her intentional muck up, reminiscent of years ago when they had both been entirely different people.

"Alright, my turn." He clapped his hands together. "Lay it on me, Bones."

She shyly handed him the envelope and tucked her hands beneath her legs.

Booth tore open the flap and pulled out a sonogram photo. He frowned in confusion and then met her anxious gaze. "I haven't seen this one before."

Brennan nodded enthusiastically. "That's correct. It was taken a week ago while you were working on the Anderson case."

"You went to an appointment without me?"

Her newfound confidence plummeted at the disappointment in his tone, and she realized she had once again managed to do the exact wrong thing. Next year, she was getting him a television. Possibly two, in order to make up for this year.

"It wasn't technically a scheduled appointment." She tried to explain, "I'm twenty three weeks along and we still haven't been able to determine gender due to our child's refusal to co-operate. There was an opening and I persuaded the clinic to let me take advantage in hopes that the baby's position would be more favourable. I thought it was a good idea… Angela assured me you would enjoy it."

Booth took note of the uncertainty tingeing her tone and felt a pang of regret for eradicating her excitement. "It _is _a good idea, Bones." He consoled. "And you managed to keep this a secret for a whole week! That's like a record for you."

"It seemed important." She shrugged.

Determined to restore the enthusiasm he had inadvertently taken away from her, Booth reached forward and began to tug playfully on her foot. "Okay; get over here and show me what's what."

Brennan rolled her eyes and extricated her foot from his grip before shifting to his side of the couch and settling between his legs. Once she had arranged herself comfortably against his chest, Booth eagerly held the photo in front of them.

"Do your thing, Bones."

"Well, this here is the head-

"I know that much! Come on, Bones, do the good part first. Boy or girl?"

Brennan's eyes lit up as she warmed to her topic, and she took possession of the picture. "This, right here?"

"Uh huh?"

"It's an arm."

Booth couldn't see her face clearly, but he caught the undertone of barely contained laughter in her speech and knew that she was being evasive entirely on purpose. He decided that he much preferred to be on the giving end of teasing as opposed to the receiving end.

"You think you're funny, don't you?"

"I'm finding myself highly amused by my actions, yes." Brennan agreed.

Booth pursed his lips in muted outrage and poked her side, hitting a spot he knew to be particularly sensitive with his usual former-sniper accuracy.

"Hey!" She jumped.

He repeated his assault, and though she fumbled against his hands, his quick reflexes evaded her grip continuously.

"I'm finding myself pretty highly amused by my own actions." Booth countered with a grin. "How 'bout that?"

"Girl." The answer came out in the form of a somewhat strangled gasp. "She's a girl."

Booth's hands stilled and Brennan turned her head to glare at him. He took no notice of the dark look, however, and instead stared through her with an expression she would categorize as stunned. After waiting what seemed - to her - to be a reasonable amount of time, she began to tap his thigh repeatedly with her index finger.

"Booth?"

The kiss he placed on the base of her neck was unexpected, and Brennan automatically flinched due to her current suspicion of his every move. When she was (mostly) certain he had no intention of so _childishly _tickling her again, she relaxed against his chest.

"You're amazing." He breathed.

"It's simple biology, Booth." She scoffed. "While the human body itself is quite remarkable, I have no real control over its internal functions."

He laughed. "Parker isn't going to be happy about this. He had his heart set on a boy."

Brennan shrugged, "I will simply explain to him that it's your fault."

"My fault?"

"Yes." She stated factually. "As the male, you are the one in possession of both an 'x' and a 'y' chromosome. Therefore you are, on an admittedly vague level, the one responsible for gender."

"Great. As if you don't have my son conspiring against me enough as it is."

"I quite enjoyed having an older brother when I was a child. Given what an excellent child Parker is, it's likely our progeny will develop a deep admiration for him in a similar manner."

"He'll be good to her." Booth stated confidently.

"_You _are a good person, Booth." Brennan put forth sensibly. "Parker has learned how to treat others from you."

He kissed the top of her head. "I hope she's just like you. Maybe a little bit less of a smartass, but mostly like you."

Brennan laughed and traced arbitrary patterns over the back of Booth's hand. "I think that perhaps next year I will be ready for you to 'pull out all the stops.'" She admitted. "I think that, perhaps, I will enjoy it."


	5. Chapter 5

I think I may have mentioned this last chapter, but this one picks up right where the last one left off, instead of doing my usual time jump. It was originally part of chapter four, but that whole chapter sort of got away from me and I had to split it almost in half. It is what it is. In other news; check me out; I'm rocking a brief Author's Note. Bet you guys didn't see that one coming, did you?

* * *

_Too much momentum.  
This room feels like it's going to explode.  
Too many angles.  
Too many factors to cover.  
Waiting for signal.  
You're searching for network.  
You have to fight to stay in control of the situation.  
And they fall apart so easily._

_**Born on the FM Waves of the Heart, **__Against Me! Featuring Tegan Quin_

Early the next morning, Booth woke as Brennan slipped out of the bed for the fourth time over the course of the night. He was accustomed to being temporarily pulled from sleep by movements within his bedroom – an army reflex he couldn't quite tamp down – but generally speaking it was only a matter of microseconds before he registered the activity (statistically, Brennan's or Parker's), categorized it as benign and then returned to slumber.

When approximately ten minutes passed and she hadn't yet returned, Booth drowsily sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes before bracing himself for the cool temperature of the apartment and drawing back the comforter.

He found her on the couch; her legs tucked beneath her, her hands around a cooling mug, and a look of such sad contemplation on her face it pulled at his heart. As he seated himself beside her she stiffened initially, but after taking a moment to adjust her thoughts and expression accordingly, she turned her body into his.

Brennan was well aware that she and Booth were very good at a great number of things, but for a few minutes, she allowed herself to feel deeply grateful that they were good at silence.

"I've found that, recently, my kinetic control isn't as precise as it used to be." She finally began.

There were often a variety of meanings that could be derived from her speech, and Booth usually considered himself adept at sensing the right one. Anything regarding the pregnancy, however, often put him outside his zone of confidence. It was difficult for him to determine what was considered a "normal" insecurity, and what was specific to Brennan. As a practical scientist she had seemed to indifferently accept that her body was going to change, but while she appeared just as comfortable with the dimensions of her changing build as she had her pre-pregnant one, he could imagine that a lack of cooperation from her formerly fluid body would upset her more than the weight gain.

"You're nearly six months pregnant, Bones."

Booth left the statement general and open ended, much the same way she had hers. He didn't feel comfortable committing to an approach until he was sure he knew where she was attempting to steer the conversation.

She pressed her lips firmly together, and then her body tensed as she determinedly exhaled and turned gray-blue eyes – steely with resolve – to his own. "Our partnership is going to have to change."

"Bones-

"We are supposed to 'have each other's backs,' as you phrase it. Usually I accompany you when you make arrests. And when suspects run, we split up and we catch them. When we discover the person responsible for murdering those four boys, if he becomes violent I may not be able to assist you to the best of my normal abilities."

Booth chuckled ruefully, but he quickly stopped himself when he saw the hurt flit across her face. He resisted her attempt to pull away from him and quickly set out to pacify her. "I'm not laughing at you, Bones. It's just, I thought that when the time came I was going to have to tie you to your desk and have Cam guard the door in order to keep you in the lab."

His attempt at comfort had the opposite effect, and this time Brennan was successful putting some distance between them.

"That was an irrational concern. I do know you, Booth. Your instinct is always to protect me, even when I don't require aid. Now that I am carrying your child, that instinct is at a high. I believe I could potentially get you killed very quickly in a crisis. I don't want to be in that situation."

The word _again _rings between them even though she doesn't say it. It's implied like it always is, because they don't talk about _that_. Ever. How he could be so good at saying the right thing sometimes, and so bad at it others, Booth would never know.

"What do you want to do?" He asked carefully.

Brennan sighed. "It's not what I _want _to do; it's what will become necessary. Beginning next week, I will no longer venture into the field."

Her voice was strong but she wouldn't make eye contact, and she began to draw up her knees before she remembered that it was now a physical impossibility and scowled instead. It was a logical, sound decision, but it was clear that it made her unhappy just the same.

"I'll make sure no one compromises your remains." Booth offered solemnly. "And after Baby Girl gets here, whenever you're ready to be out in the field again, I'll support you."

"Really?" Brennan finally smiled wryly, "You won't argue that, as the mother, I should be the one to sacrifice my love of adventure and limit my hours outside the office, to ensure I'm always readily available to care for her?"

She was attempting to be humorous, but there was a distal hint of a real underlying fear in there that Booth couldn't ignore. "I don't like seeing you unhappy, Bones. I would never try to stop you from coming back – not that I would have the slightest chance of success. I may not always like it, but you love our work and I couldn't take that from you. We're in this fifty-fifty; I'll be glad to get my partner back. I'm going to miss you too."

"I never said I'd miss you." Brennan quickly pointed out.

"I know."

A beat passed.

"…But, I will."

"I know."

* * *

Hours later, another young boy - matching the age and general characteristics of the other children - disappeared from the same mall, sending Washington D.C. into a panic and the team into a sleepless frenzy as they scrambled to pull answers from the bodies. The second ride out to the mall in as many days was permeated with clipped, frenzied chatter, as Booth fielded calls from his superiors and Brennan corresponded with the lab.

When their phones finally stopped chirping and silence descended for a period greater than twelve seconds, Brennan cast a surreptitious glance toward Booth. Yesterday, their short tempers had had them taking turns losing all semblances of patience with one another, until Booth made his call to Parker. Knowing that today would – in all likelihood – follow the same pattern, Brennan swallowed. Parker had an overnight fieldtrip today; she couldn't rely on the eleven year old to "fix" the two of them, nor could she fulfill his role herself when she was so unclear as to how he had managed to make her and Booth feel better in the first place.

She lost count of the number of times she decided to break the silence and then promptly lost her nerve over the remainder of the drive, and just as she resolutely concluded – as they grew near to the mall's security office – that _this _would be the time she went through with it, angered shouts filtered through the closed office door and down to the end of the hallway where they stood.

"_Goddamn it, Carol! How could you be so stupid? How?"_

"_Do you really think I'm not already blaming myself? Just shut up! For two seconds, shut up!"_

Booth was already speed walking down the hall, and Brennan hurried to keep up with him while absently wondering how long it would be before his habit of mercilessly clenching his jaw led to need of serious dental work. No wonder he got headaches.

The yelling became louder.

"_You have __**no **__common sense. It's a miracle you survived your own hippie upraising, and now, because you have the same ideals as your parents, our son is gone!"_

Booth pushed open the door and Brennan stepped in behind him just in time to see a tall, narrow featured man punch a hole in the wall nearest a teary faced woman. Booth stiffened almost imperceptibly beside her before checking himself and demanding control of the room. "You're going to have to calm down."

"And who the hell are you?"

Booth removed his credentials. "Special Agent Seeley Booth; FBI. This is my partner-

"Temperance Brennan." Carol softly finished with a weak smile. "I've seen pictures of you. You're a lovely writer."

Brennan accepted the compliment with a tentative smile of her own and then took an awkward step forward. "I'm very sorry for your loss."

The sentiment was sincere and delivered with an admirable lack of tactlessness. It would have been one of her finer moments had there been a body, but as it stood her comment only served to exacerbate the anger of the irate husband.

"He's not dead. Although God help him if you two are the ones responsible for bringing him home safely."

"They're here to help, Richard. Don't make things more difficult for them."

"For them? You're worried about me making things difficult for _them_? That's great, Carol."

Booth cleared his throat and gracefully took the lead in directing the conversation. Brennan watched the proceedings carefully, but didn't try to speak again. She was able to recognize that this was one of those circumstances in which letting Booth do the talking for the both of them would bring faster progress. It had been a hard lesson to learn – a lesson she still occasionally struggled with, to be honest – but she _was _learning. Slowly, the few details the parents had to offer came to light. Christmas was a month and a half away, less a few days, and Carol Crawford had taken her son Andrew, and nephew Jeremy, to the mall to complete her shopping. When nine year old Andrew had voiced his desire to buy his mother a present, Carol had left him in her older nephew's care with instructions to meet her in the food court in half an hour.

At this point, Carol began to cry earnestly while her husband maintained a stoic face and kept his arms crossed firmly over his chest. Brennan grew quieter and unconsciously distanced herself from the suffocating emotions charging the room.

"Where's your nephew now? We'll need to speak with him."

Carol opened her mouth to respond, but she was promptly cut off by her other half. "His parents are on their way. He doesn't need to be exposed to this."

As Carol and Richard renewed their attacks on one another and Booth fluctuated between acting as investigator and acting as referee, Brennan caught a glimpse of a young face in the window of the door to the adjoining room. Jeremy.

"Where were you while your wife was shopping, Mr. Crawford?" Booth asked another question, and Brennan forced her attention back to the conversation.

"My son gets kidnapped and _I _get interrogated?"

"Oh for God's _sake_, Richard, just _tell _them. What is the big deal?" Carol took a shaky breath and turned red, swollen eyes to Booth. "He was across the road waiting to get blood work done. He was planning on coming over to meet us when we finished, but I called him when… I called him after…"

She dissolved into tears again and Booth waited patiently for her to regain composure, all the while making promises to find the person responsible. Brennan caught another flash of boyish face in the window and slowly backed her way toward the door. Booth frowned questioningly, but after a few seconds of silent conversation he gave a slight nod of his head and turned his attention back to the parents.

* * *

The boy scrambled away from the door when he saw the handle begin to move, and when Brennan appeared they each took a moment to size the other up.

"Hello." Brennan raised her hand hesitantly in greeting.

"Hi." The pre-teen answered cautiously.

In hindsight, Brennan supposed she should have put more thought into what she planned to say before she had impulsively opened the door. At the time, however, she had been thinking only of a child who had been left alone in a tiny room – abandoned, in a sense – while his caretakers carried on just beyond him. She didn't like seeing kids put into corners to be forgotten.

"Your mother and father are on their way; they're currently stuck in traffic."

"They're going to _kill _me." He muttered.

"This isn't your fault." Brennan said with a concerned frown, finally stepping fully into the room and taking a seat beside the boy.

Jeremy didn't flinch away from her close presence. While Brennan never thought of herself as particularly good with children, there was an openness about her, a decidedly unthreatening vibe, that made most children comfortable. It was relatively easy for them to recognize her as a non-standard adult.

"Can I tell you something?"

Brennan seemed surprised to hear him speak again, but she recovered quickly. "Yes. Of course."

"It _is _my fault." Jeremy admitted. "And you can't tell my parents, but I didn't know anything bad would happen; we were just playing around."

"I'm sure that's true." She answered gently. "I can't imagine you would intentionally endanger your cousin."

"We were looking around this store for a present for my aunt, and Andrew jumped out from behind this case of watches and scared me. It was funny and we forgot about shopping and started playing Hide & Seek in the clothes racks. It was my turn to look for him, but then I couldn't find him anywhere. I looked, and I looked and looked, and I called him saying, 'I give up,' but he wouldn't answer me." His bright green eyes began to glimmer and his speech grew ever faster. "We're not supposed to fool around in the mall. My mom's always saying, 'It's not a playground, Jeremy; you're going to break something.' But Aunt Carol's cool; I didn't think she'd care. At least, not the same way my mom would."

The voices outside the door reached a crescendo, and Jeremy stiffened.

"My partner will handle your aunt and uncle. He's very good with people. I promise, no one blames you for what happened… you're a child." Brennan reassured him.

The boy nodded quietly and discretely wiped tears off his face with an open palm. In the other room, a chorus of new voices joined that of Booth and the Crawfords, and Jeremy's eyes widened. The door swung open suddenly and Booth's frame momentarily filled the doorway before two frantic adults rushed past him.

"Jeremy. Oh honey."

Brennan removed herself from the intimate scene forming beside her and joined Booth near the door, but it took only one look at his face to make her to wish that there was somewhere else to stand. She had been sitting with Jeremy for all of ten minutes, if that, yet it had apparently been enough time to allow Booth to fully descend into an extraordinarily foul mood. Behind him, in the larger room, Brennan could see Carol crying inconsolably while Richard sat at her side with an arm wrapped awkwardly around her shoulder.

"What the hell were you doing, Bones? Here I was thinking you were just checking on the kid, and you up and disappeared for fifteen minutes."

"What?" She frowned at his sharp tone. "He was in here all by himself, Booth. I was just keeping him company."

His jaw clenched for the upteenth time and she tried to figure out whether he was actually angry with her specifically, or more so with the situation involving dead and missing children. Before she could decide one way or another, Booth took a deep breath and schooled his features to the appropriate softness for questioning a twelve year old boy. While an ability to connect with the families of victims was usually something Booth came by very naturally, today it seemed to take obvious effort where she was used to seeing none.

* * *

Richard Crawford was a prick. From the moment he had walked into that room, Booth had known exactly the kind of man the grieving father was. He had been adept at recognizing _those _signs long before he joined the FBI or the army. Instinct told him that the man probably wasn't physically abusive, but he was used to intimidating his family. He was used to getting his way. He was the type of man it was very difficult for Booth to be near without throwing a punch.

And then there was Andrew. Andrew, who had been described as bright and curious, both athletic and bookish, a child who loved learning and people and the outdoors and running shoes… a child who simply _loved_. Andrew, who had been missing for four hours already. Booth knew exactly the kind of things a perverted mind could do in only four hours, although he wished he didn't. His hand kept slipping into his pocket to grasp his phone, preparing to call Parker before he remembered he couldn't slap a Parker Band-Aid over his heart tonight.

"Do you think it's a copycat?" Brennan asked as they made their way across the parking lot.

Booth gave a tense shake of his head. "The day after we find a dump site? I don't think so."

"So, what are we going to do now? The kidnapper was caught."

"No, he killed himself. There's a difference. Clearly, he wasn't our guy. I'll drop you off at the lab and then dig up the case files for the boys that went missing that summer. Then we can re-interview their families."

Brennan's brow furrowed at both his impatient tone and his suggestion. "We can't, Booth. There hasn't been time to confirm the identities of the skeletal remains. It would be premature to assume-

-to assume that four kids were pulled from the water behind the same mall where five kids disappeared, and the two scenarios are connected?" Booth shot her a look of exasperated incredulity, "You've got to be kidding me."

"I'm most certainly not kidding. There were five boys that went missing, and we have four bodies. _If _the remains match some of the missing cases, I would think it would still be important to know which body is unaccounted for. Cam should be finished with the remains by this afternoon and then I can do a thorough examination of the bones."

"Great. We'll just keep both investigations on ice until you decide to confirm the obvious."

Booth recognized the unfairness of his words the moment they came out of his mouth, and yet he couldn't bring himself to apologise. He was seeing that woman's face and hearing her regret for allowing her son and nephew to explore the mall on their own... Christmas was a month and a bit away; this was bullshit.

"Why would you phrase it like that?" She asked. His tone had stung her, and Brennan was unable to completely disguise the slight betrayal she felt.

Booth glared. "Why can't you just tell me whether or not you think it's those boys?"

"Because I don't _know_, Booth." Brennan snapped, frustrated. "I haven't had time to do a thorough examination."

"You're the best in the world. In the _world_. You're brilliant. You tell me that _all _the time, as if I could forget. I've seen you figure out a person's life story from a piece of rib, and you had four mostly complete skeletons for the better part of five hours yesterday. That's like a month of time in non-genius years. You're being difficult."

"And you're being unfair." She replied, refusing to raise her voice to match his. "I know you hate these cases. I know they make you think of Parker, but-

"This isn't about Parker." Booth cut her off. "This is about you. And they're _kids _for Christ's sake. Not _skeletal remains_."

* * *

By the time they were halfway to the Jeffersonian, she was angry with him mostly because he was so unfairly angry with her. And maybe it was childish, but she was done with trying to make helpful suggestions and then getting her head figuratively bitten off for her efforts. So when he made a half-assed attempt to make amends, she felt less than receptive.

"Do you want to pick up something to eat before I drop you off?"

"I'm not hungry."

"You're always hungry."

"I said, I'm not hungry."

* * *

The hours apart did little to settle the tension between the two of them. Booth brought boxes of case files back to the Jeffersonian and poured over them in Brennan's office while she and the team consulted on the platform. He would have preferred to be up there with them, but after the second time he snapped at Brennan and the third time he snapped at Hodgins, Cam had banished him from the immediate area in no uncertain terms. After Brennan officially matched all four sets of remains to the abduction victims (leaving Taylor Johnson the only boy still unaccounted for) Cam took it upon herself to act as liason between the partners in order to keep war from breaking out in her lab. As far as she was concerned, they could kill each other on their own time.

When Brennan was ready to call it a day she silently retrieved her coat from her office, and Booth began packing away the mess he had spread over her table. It was somewhat comforting to see that they could continue to operate in sync even when they were ignoring one another, but neither of them were in a place where they were ready to acknowledge that fact.

In the confines of Booth's car the tension mounted, and their separate angers grew as they drew closer to the apartment; a place their turbulent emotions seemed to automatically recognize as beyond the constraints placed on them during company time. The knowledge that in a few short minutes there would be nothing to keep them from losing their tempers in whatever manner they saw fit made it increasingly difficult to hold them in check.

Booth jammed his key into the front door, and with the click of the bolt, the inevitable explosion occurred.

Brennan pushed him against the inside wall and he viciously kicked the door shut. Then she slammed her mouth so hard against his that their teeth knocked together.

He thrust his tongue into her mouth and she fumbled with his belt buckle before finding the catch, ripping it through his belt loops, and hurling the whole goddamn thing across the room.

They were past making love. They were past angry sex. They were fucking for pure animalistic release and she couldn't figure out if she felt like crying or punching something or curling up in bed forever, but it didn't matter because she could forget it all if he could just hurry up and undo her pants.

Booth gave up trying to unfasten the top button and instead pulled the two sides apart with as much force as he could muster. The button clattered to the floor and the zipper tore away from its stitches, and Brennan wriggled free of the damaged clothing and kicked them clear.

Finally.

Conscious thought returned to her however when Booth turned her toward the wall and began to lift her off her feet.

"No." She mumbled. "Your back."

"I don't care." He growled.

"Don't be stupid. I'm too heavy; put me down."

He ignored her until she sunk her teeth into his shoulder hard enough for him to almost drop her.

"Ow! You can't do shit like that anymore! What if we fell? The baby-

"Put me down." She insisted.

Grumbling – as much as he could with her tongue down his throat – Booth spun away from the wall and led her backwards until he felt her hit the couch. He shifted them to ensure that she would land on top, and he blindly fell backward onto the cushions, pulling her down with him.

* * *

The thing with them was, they could never do anything in a traditional manner. Never. Before becoming involved they'd kissed a handful of – disastrous – times, but the first time he kissed her without the sky falling in on top of them, it hadn't been in the diner or either of their apartments or his office, and it _definitely _hadn't been in _her_ office. He had kissed her in the ballpoint pen aisle of an office supply store because she had been frowning at two packages of pens that looked exactly the same to him, but were apparently different. And as she had seriously considered her options, and as four minutes had turned to eight, he had loved every intense oblivious part of her so much that he hadn't been able to contain it.

And some part – or maybe _every _part – of it had been perfectly timed, because once they had broken apart they had both been too dazed to be afraid – although that part did come later – and they had left the store together in a distracted fog. Without either style of pen.

He had intentionally refrained from putting any overemphasis on the anniversary yesterday because part of him hadn't wanted to spook her and part of him had finally come to terms with the fact that nothing, _nothing _ever went according to plan for them. Besides, when he dreamed about his partner it wasn't the memories of banquets and cocktail dresses that filled his head; it was the image of her working on her novel on his couch. Of her standing in the aisle of an office depot.

And while he had thought that they survived the nightmare of the day before fairly well considering, he hadn't expected today to carry on over the way it had. They couldn't have had a good couple days. They couldn't have had an awful couple days. They had to have two bittersweet days full of memories that had fluctuated between heart tugging and flat out enraging with dizzying speed.

They worked silently on autopilot once they picked themselves up off the floor – Booth still wasn't a hundred percent sure how they had ended up down there in the first place, but whatever. Clothing went in hampers, files and photos were dumped wherever there was space. He could feel her piercing gaze as he kneeled to pick a stray file up from beneath the coffee table, and he knew it wouldn't be long before she calculated words.

Sure enough, three minutes later she broke their silence.

"Perhaps it would be best if I went back to my apartment." Brennan said without meeting his eyes, folding her arms defensively over her chest. "Just this one time."

Three weeks. They had made it three weeks into their "experiment," and now she wanted to bail back to her apartment after one – admittedly terrible – rough day. He was spent. He didn't have the patience to try and cajole her into staying. In fact, the longer the silence stretched on the more he wanted to tell her to just go if that was what she really wanted. But _was _it what she wanted? The sex hadn't changed anything; he was still angry at the world and she appeared to be as well, but while it was no secret that Brennan tended to offend others accidentally, she _knew _how to piss him off. She was good at it. Her and her goddamn steep learning curve. The logical part of him knew that if she was aiming to wound with her decision to return to her place, she would look a lot more certain about it than she did right now. Which led him to believe that this might be one of her clumsy attempts to give him what she thought he wanted. Damn it.

Booth sighed. "Not a chance in hell, Bones. Start with Taylor Johnson's file; I'm going to grab a sweater. Which reminds me; stop turning off the heat."

The no nonsense tone proved to be the exact form of reassurance she needed, and Brennan released a breath she hadn't been aware she was holding as Booth turned his back and headed toward the bedroom.

* * *

"_One more time, Seeley." The voice croons gently._

"_But, Jared-_

"_Jared will begin after I finish with you. Honestly, Seeley, is it so bad?"_

_Seeley Booth is six years old and he hates, he __**hates **__the piano. It's a girl's instrument. He wants to play the guitar. But his mom plays the piano and she says that he has "natural ability." Jared doesn't. Which is why Jared is banging on pots in the kitchen and he's practicing chords._

_He swings his legs under the bench and feels immediately guilty when he realises his mom is still waiting for an answer. He hates the piano, but his mom is the most beautiful girl in the world and she always smells like cinnamon, and he loves her very much._

"_Nah. It's not so bad."_

_His fingers fly absently over the keys and he doesn't see the surprised lift of his mother's eyebrow. He doesn't know that his dexterity and co-ordination is exceptional. Not yet._

"_Squeeze over, darling. Let's have some fun."_

_His face lights up and he eagerly makes room on the bench for his mother to sit beside him. She plays two octaves of a standard C Sharp scale, but she fills it with dramatic, unnecessary trills and crescendos along the way that make him giggle. She hits the final solid chord with flourish and then fixes him with a mock serious stare._

"_Are you ready, Seeley?"_

_Her eyes are the ultimate juxtaposition, light and dark at the same time. His eyes look just like hers; everyone says so._

"_Yes ma'am." He grins._

_The house comes alive. The notes of __**Heart and Soul **__bleed into the air without flaw as they effortlessly play the ever-popular duet, and it's one of the rare times Seeley doesn't hate the piano. Because when they do this, he doesn't have to share her with anyone. Not even Jared._

_There's a crash in the kitchen and it sucks all the magic out of the moment in an instant. His mother frowns and follows the noise, and he dutifully trails behind her._

_Jared sits on the floor surrounded by broken glass and the air reeks of fermented liquid. Seeley sighs, because he doesn't understand how his kid brother somehow manages to break nearly everything he touches._

"_Hi mommy." Jared says with an unconcerned grin._

"_Oh Jared." She gives a rueful laugh. "Alright, let's get you cleaned up, before-_

_The front door slams and Seeley stiffens. He's very good at determining exactly the kind of night he is to expect based on the sound the door makes as it opens and closes. His mother is too. When he looks at her eyes, he doesn't see the light anymore._

_In a matter of seconds she has the makeshift drums Jared has created stowed away under the sink._

"_Take your brother upstairs." She instructs with a tight smile._

_He doesn't argue. He grabs Jared's hand and steps silently across the floor and prays prays prays that Jared won't start crying until they at least reach the bedroom. _

_God listens, and Jared co-operates today. Seeley breathes a little easier, but not much. The voices downstairs are rising._

_Jared's watching his every move and Seeley pretends he's his mom and gives his brother the most grown-up face he can muster. "Stay here; I'll be right back."_

_Jared's protest is immediate. "No!"_

"_Jare, I'm older, so I'm in charge, okay? Play with Batman. I'll be right back."_

_He's out the door and back down the stairs with a speed, silence, and agility he doesn't yet recognize as a skill not possessed by everyone. He stands just outside the kitchen doorway and listens to the clink clink clinking of the beer bottle's glass shards falling into the garbage can._

"_Is it too much to ask to come home to a clean house? Is it? To for once not have someone's goddamn mess covering the floor?"_

"_I'm working on it, Joseph."_

_His mother's voice is calm, but his father tenses and Seeley knows what's going to come next. His mother is usually as good at foreseeing the steps as he is, but for some reason she's not paying attention the way she should be. She's not quite ready. She's crouched on the floor cleaning the spilled beer with a few sheets of paper towel, and Seeley rushes forward and he's so quick and so silent it's like neither of his parents quite register he's there until the blow meant for his mom catches him in the side of the head._

_His ears ring and his tongue gets caught between his teeth. He tastes blood._

"_It wasn't mom's fault; it was me."_

_His voice is louder than a speaking voice because his ears are still ringing and he can't hear well enough to adjust his own volume appropriately._

"_Seeley; upstairs." Her voice is gentle as always but there's this edge beneath it that comes through as clearly to him as the sound of a wrong key being struck on the piano._

_His father mutters something about coddling and a lack of respect, and then he moves faster than an outsider would have thought possible. But Seeley knows so much better._

_He drifts away when his ears start ringing again. He can't compartmentalize the pain completely away as of yet, but twenty years from now he won't have to think twice about it._

"_Joseph, he's six. He doesn't know-_

"_He wants to speak? Let the boy speak."_

Booth's eyes flew open and he fought to control his racing heartbeat. He wasn't six. He hadn't touched a piano in over thirty years. He hadn't set foot in that house in about the same amount of time, and he lived in Washington DC. A soft breath beside him reminded him of the most important aspect of his reality; Bones. Here in his bedroom. In his bed.

He didn't often dream of his childhood - after all, his subconscious had plenty of other traumas to choose from - but it didn't take a psychologist to determine what had triggered that nightmare. He breathed deeply and pushed the blanket off his sweat drenched body, and then he turned onto his side and watched Brennan's chest rise and fall until his rhythm matched hers and his adrenaline settled.

She scrunched up her nose and then kicked the blanket clear of her body. Booth gave a half smile as the sheets slowly spilled to the floor and he was faced with tangible proof that it was indeed Brennan who was forever ridding them of blankets, not him. Not that she'd believe him when he told her.

As he stared, his thoughts turned to the events of the past day and a half. When it came to their living situation, Booth had always believed that he had been ready to share a space with her from the beginning. That he had been the one waiting for Brennan to be ready. He had enjoyed a private elation of sorts the first morning he had woken up to her beside him in his bed, and in some senses, the feeling had been amplified the first morning he had woken up beside her in _her _bed. He had revelled in the way she had accepted him into her carefully guarded private space. As months had passed and their routine had settled into something mostly permanent between their apartments, he had loved all the little indicators of their combined households that had contrarily sent Brennan into near panic.

Except for the one time he hadn't.

One night, almost a year ago now, he had left her outside the bar, and he had walked home – alone – because as much as he loved her, he had craved a kind of space he couldn't have had with her in the apartment. Earlier, he had felt that same pulsing anger – stronger than that time, given Richard's effect on him – and he had taken it out on her. No wonder she had eventually suggested going back to her place; he had certainly made it clear she was bothering him.

"Bones?"

He breathed her name into her ear, but she didn't so much as twitch. She was a much sounder sleeper than he was. Booth sighed.

"Bones." This time he shook her shoulder gently. "Wake up."

Brennan groaned. "No."

"I need to talk to you."

His urgent tone of voice filtered through her sleep muddled brain and she struggled to bring herself to full consciousness. "Do we have a case?"

"No." Booth shook his head even though her eyes were still closed and she couldn't see it. When she finally managed to part her eyelids, they held such unfocused bewilderment he suddenly felt foolish, but it was too late to turn back now. "I said some things to you that were unfair. I want to apologize."

She groaned again. "Now? It could have waited until morning, Booth."

"No, it couldn't have." He shook his head resolutely. "We had the same shitty day, and I handled it really badly. I was upset, and I took it out on you. And you're not supposed to do that to people you love. You're not supposed to hold them accountable for things that happen in your life that they have no control over."

Brennan blinked, and the last dredges of sleep fell away from her as she was hit with his increasingly passionate tone. "You're upset." She observed softly. "Is this about Richard Crawford?"

"No." Booth answered immediately. "Why would you think that?"

She brushed her bangs out of her eyes and turned on the bedside lamp. Sometimes she couldn't interpret meanings from his voice alone. For something this important, she needed to be able to see his face. He squinted against the sudden light and she studied him intently.

"You've taught me how to see people, Booth." She answered slowly. "I'm aware that I'm not as adept at interpreting emotional signifiers as you are, but I see _you_. I know he made you think of your father."

"I just, I need you to know that I'm sorry."

Brennan felt a sudden rush of anger toward the weak man who had done so much damage to the (figuratively) lion-hearted man she l-... cared for, and she struggled through her distracting emotions to find the right words for Booth in the way he always seemed to find the right words for her.

"I think that you're a very good man. I think, you're nothing like your father." She forced away the rage threatening to constrict her throat and took a deep breath before continuing. "I think that our daughter will be very fortunate to have you to protect her, and I think that you don't need to worry about hurting me, because if you ever tried, I could kick your ass."

Booth grimaced, "Please don't make jokes like that."

"You're supposed to be reassured by my humour."

"There are some things that just don't make good jokes, okay, Bones? Trust me." His lecturing tone was somewhat undermined by the slight smile he couldn't manage to hide, and Brennan was thankful for the light that allowed her to see it. He would be okay.

"Fine." She yawned, "Are you finished apologizing? May I go back to sleep?"

"Sure you can. Right after you pick up the blankets you kicked onto the floor."

"What? That wasn't me, Booth. You _always_-

"Don't even try that, Bones. I literally watched you kick them off not five minutes ago."

"I'm not picking them up."

"Well neither am I."

Brennan turned off the lamp and burrowed into the mattress. "Do what you want, Booth. You are going to get cold before I do."

Silence.

"Damn it."

Brennan chuckled into her pillow, and then she drifted easily back to sleep. After reluctantly retrieving the blankets from the floor, Booth tucked her body against his chest and did the same.


	6. Chapter 6

This chapter is kind of a giant, but I feel like I should get brownie points for letting you know in advance, so don't shoot me, okay? I contemplated the pros and cons to splitting it into two parts, but in the end I decided that the next chapter is already a two-parter, and I don't want to drag this thing out. Oh, also, I have a really important seminar coming up - like, 'Ren will not graduate in April if she does not kick this seminar in the face' kind of important - so it might take me a few days to reply to your reviews (see? _Sometimes _I can make mature decisions). I will most definitely get to it though, soo please still feel free to let me know what you think :) . Also, new episode tomorrow. Friggen finally.

* * *

_I took the stars from my eyes,  
and then I made a map.  
I knew that somehow I could find my way back.  
Then I heard your heart beating,  
you were in the darkness too;  
so I stayed in the darkness with you._

_**Cosmic Love, **Florence__+ The Machine_

One year, three weeks and five days ago, Booth kissed Brennan in a supply store. They walked back out into the crisp fall evening, leaving more space between them than usual in an effort to keep the tension and electricity throbbing at a bearable level, and when they reached the SUV, they exhaled in relief. Because the vehicle was a safety zone of sorts and as long as they could ride in it together, then they weren't as far gone as they could be. Their relationship could be tenuous at best but a willingness to brave a potentially awkward car ride meant that it was recoverable.

Brennan closed a hand around the cool metal of the door handle and gave a grateful tug. She was thinking about how long it had taken them to get back to this place; about what she perceived as Booth's continuing need for time and space in the wake of all their turns taken at stomping on each other's metaphoric hearts. However, at the same time, Booth was thinking about how wonderful it had been to kiss her for the first time in nearly two years – how he had experienced that same fluttering intensity he had each and every time before the moment passed and it all fell apart – and he had decided that he couldn't retreat or play with half his heart again. He would go all in.

He pushed the door closed and spun Brennan around to face him, pinning her between two sturdy frames.

"Please don't run." He whispered lowly, voice raw.

She watched him with eyes wide open, knowing full well her last attempt to preserve what they had, had come uncomfortably close to ruining them forever. And yet, it was harder than anyone could imagine changing that kind of reflexive behaviour.

He leaned in closer and she instinctively tilted her head upward, her body willing to meet him halfway even though her mind had yet to choose a course of action.

"Please don't run." He repeated.

She thought of drinks at the bar and Thai dinners and pie and different kinds of family. She thought of Maluku and Afghanistan and distance and Hannah and the difference between being alone and being lonely. She thought of a moment of honesty in the SUV that had mirrored a moment of honesty outside the Hoover, and a gentle rejection that had filled her with a hurt that had burned everywhere at once. A hurt that had caused her to darkly marvel at the body's ability to endure pain without simply ceasing to function the way she had almost wished it would.

And she concluded that they could only throw away so many moments before they stopped happening upon opportunities to catch fire.

"Okay." She responded quietly.

It would be two weeks and five days before they stopped moving two steps forward, three backward enough to go on their first official date. It would be two months after that before Brennan stopped scrambling for reasonable excuses to sleep at Booth's place or allow him to sleep at hers, and came to terms with her desire to spend nights together. In another six months, Booth would find her sitting in bone storage working her way up to telling him about an unplanned pregnancy. But four words, uttered one year, three weeks and five days ago, started it all.

"Please don't run."

"Okay."

* * *

"Dad?"

"Dad?"

"Hey dad?"

Booth gathered all his strength and drew his eyelids apart, blinking rapidly until the bleary image of his son came into focus. It was… not quite six thirty in the morning. On a Saturday. Of course it was.

He loved his son. He counted down to every weekend he got to have him. That being said, the two weeks since Parker's last visit had been hell, work wise. He had been hoping to catch more than three hours of sleep in a row this weekend.

"What is it, Park?" He asked, his voice gravely with sleep.

"The T.V's broken."

"What?"

"The T.V's broken." Parker repeated. "It won't turn on and I'm bored."

Booth groaned and closed his eyes. "Read a book. Bones just bought you a couple."

"Dad, I'm _saving _those." Parker explained impatiently, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "If I read them now, then I won't have anything to read when I'm stuck in mom's office after school this week."

To be honest, Booth was already all but asleep again. All but asleep and praying Parker would give up and entertain himself for just a few more hours.

"Dad? Did you hear me, dad?"

Booth grunted noncommittally.

"Dad? Bones' breasts are showing."

That was enough to snap Booth to attention. His eyes flew open immediately, and the first thing he saw was that Parker had dutifully taken it upon himself to cover his own eyes. He shifted slightly to face Brennan and saw that, yes, she was in fact quite topless. Glancing at his son to ensure Parker's eyes were still covered, Booth chanced a swift peek beneath the sheet. Scratch that; she was totally naked.

He sighed. _Damn it, Bones._

There was _snow _on the ground outside, it was late November, and yet, in the last week or so, Brennan had taken to stripping in her sleep. She had thus far displayed an impeccable amount of physical and emotional control in spite of her hormone imbalances, but she couldn't seem to keep her temperature regulated. Which meant that it was fucking freezing in the apartment all the time and she still couldn't keep her clothes on. And while he wouldn't generally be one to complain about her being naked, this situation, here with Parker, was less than ideal.

He tucked all her limbs back beneath the blanket and secured it under her chin. Giving up on sleep, Booth swung his legs over the side of the bed and stretched, checking once more that Brennan was still covered before addressing his son.

"Alright Parks, you can open your eyes."

Parker peeked cautiously through his fingers before exhaling in relief and removing his hands altogether.

Booth stood up and turned his son toward the door, giving him a gentle push in the direction of the hallway. "Let's take a look at that T.V."

"'Kay."

"Parker?"

"Yeah dad?"

"I think maybe you're going to have to start knocking in the morning before you come in, okay bub? At least until the baby gets here."

Parker nodded sagely. "That's probably a good idea."

* * *

Brennan jerked upright, startled into consciousness with a speed that sent her stomach lurching. When she noted the empty space beside her she was momentarily filled with equal parts panic and outrage; panic at the thought of sleeping through a call from work and outrage at the thought of one Seeley Booth heading out without a word, all the while thinking he was somehow doing her a favour by letting her sleep. The outrage dissipated first as she heard the muffled, low rumble of Booth's voice coming from somewhere outside the door, and the panic soon followed after a quick glance at the alarm clock informed her that it was barely quarter past seven in the morning. They had come home from the lab at two… or had it been three? She couldn't remember.

A body had been found tangled up in the frame of an old roller-coaster, and they still hadn't made any real progress on the abduction/murder cases, so Brennan could only hope that this new case was solved in a timely fashion. She had poured over the new set of remains and Booth had gone out to pick up dinner and Parker (not in that order) before returning to the Jeffersonian; Booth had called it "dividing and conquering." Parker had been easy enough to keep occupied – after all, he _never _got tired of playing video games in Angela's office – but as the hours flew by and Booth eventually found him fast asleep, face first in the carpet, it had been decided that it was probably past time to go home.

Brennan stepped out of bed and quickly dressed before heading out the bedroom door.

"Can we take Bones her breakfast in bed if she doesn't wake up soon?" She heard Parker ask as she entered the hallway.

"Nope." Booth's answer was immediate.

"Why not?" But before Booth could give him a reply, Parker began to answer his own question. "Oh, is it because I might see her breasts again?"

Booth sighed, "Do me a favour and keep the 'breasts' talk to a minimum when Bones wakes up, alright Parks?"

"Why? Should I say 'boobs' instead? Mom says that it's demeaning to say 'tits,' but she never said-

"Yes, Parker. It's because I don't want you seeing her breasts again. Do you want to flip these over?"

Brennan snorted as she came around the corner to the kitchen, entertained by the dialogue but also slightly disappointed she had missed the visual to accompany it. Booth and Parker's backs were to her, and she witnessed Booth carefully monitor his son as he flipped French toast in the frying pan.

"Can _you _go wake Bones up then? French toast gets cold real fast; she's going to miss it."

"She's out in the hall, Parker. She won't miss it." Booth assured.

Parker whirled around to face her, and Brennan rolled her eyes. And _she _was the one with the inflated ego. Sure. What a show off.

"Morning! We're making French toast. The first batch is almost done." Parker eagerly took her hand and tugged her toward the table. "Sit down."

Brennan complied with Parker's demands and lowered herself into the kitchen chair.

"It smells very nice." She complimented.

"Thanks." Parker grinned. He took a quick peek at Booth to ensure his father's attention was elsewhere, and then he leaned in toward her with a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. "What time are we going to the mall?"

Brennan's face went blank and Parker groaned quietly. "You forgot, didn't you?"

Her eyes widened and she automatically looked to Booth for assistance. Unfortunately for her, his back was still turned. "When did we decide to go to the mall? And why are we whispering?"

Parker rolled his eyes. "It's for dad's birthday tomorrow. For a present. Remember? Last time I was here I said, "Bones, can you take me shopping for a present." And you said, "Parker, the malls close in twenty five minutes." And then you said I should give more notice if I want to-

"Yes, okay, Parker. I remember. Thank you."

Parker stared at her curiously, "You've never forgotten anything before. Ever. I think you've been living with my dad too long; he forgets things all the time."

"What?" Brennan said indignantly, "I didn't forget _per say_, I merely experienced a temporary lapse in-

"What are you two up to?"

Brennan and Parker startled, and she frowned at the amused twist of Booth's lips as he leaned casually against the stove.

"I believe that's none of your business." She responded primly.

Booth rolled his eyes and then deftly transferred a couple pieces of toast to the two plates waiting on the counter beside him. He poured her a cup of coffee and Parker a glass of apple juice, and then he set about bringing all four dishes to the table in one go.

"Would you like some help?"

"Nah, Bones. I got it."

One of the plates shifted dangerously, and Brennan shot out a hand despite being too far away to actually prevent it from falling. Booth quickly regained control and sent her a smug smile.

"Just make two trips, Booth. Before you drop something."

"I said I got it!"

The plates made it to the table without further incident, and Parker immediately drowned his two pieces in maple syrup before thrusting the glass bottle across the table to Brennan. She poured a conservative amount of syrup onto the corner of her plate and sectioned off chunks of bread to dip into it. As she sipped her coffee and picked half-heartedly at her breakfast, her mind was focused on the cases and the odds of her escaping to the Jeffersonian after her shopping excursion with Parker, without sparking an argument with Booth.

"Hey Bones?" Parker began, speaking to her around a mouthful of french toast.

"Yes?"

"Does it hurt having your stomach push out like it does now?"

"Parker." Booth reprimanded from his position in front of the stove. "Come on."

Brennan tilted her head, "It was just a question, Booth. He's curious."

Booth rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the frying pan. Brennan took this as a concession to her being right – as usual – and turned her gaze back to Parker.

"No. While pregnancy admittedly has its degrees of discomfort, right now it can be attributed mainly to the shift in my centre of gravity and vast hormonal fluctuations, along with increases in pressure on my joints due to added weight and the baby's changing positions. The elasticity of the dermis ensures sufficient stretching to accommodate growth."

Parker easily accepted this answer, and Booth jumped into the ensuing silence in an effort to keep his son from exploring the subject any further.

"What do you think about going tobogganing after breakfast?"

"No." Parker answered simply.

"No? What do you mean no? You love tobogganing." Booth frowned.

"Bones and me have something important to do."

Booth glanced at Brennan, but she only grinned into her coffee mug.

"I'm done." Parker blurted suddenly. He took the last swallow of his apple juice despite his mouth still being full of french toast, and choked down the whole mess as he threw his dirty dishes in the sink. "Ready Bones?"

"Whoa whoa whoa, ease up, bud. Let her finish her breakfast." Booth admonished.

Parker looked appropriately remorseful. "Sorry Bones."

"It's alright. I'm prepared to leave as soon as you're dressed."

"Awesome!"

Parker raced off toward his bedroom to change, and Booth leaned down to give Brennan a proper kiss. She smiled against his mouth and absently ran her tongue over her lips when he pulled away.

"You taste like syrup."

"You can say no to him, you know." Booth smirked.

"I'm aware of that, Booth. I have said no to him before."

He decided to leave it at that, and tugged on the sleeve of her shirt. "I see you found some clothes."

She tilted her head, "Were they lost?"

"In a manner of speaking. You've been sleep stripping again."

"Oh. Yes, I noticed. It's not my fault, Booth."

Booth growled and kissed her clavicle. "The awesomeness this pregnancy has imparted on your breasts? Knowing that my eleven year old son saw them kind of kills a bit of the magic."

"Are you implying that my breasts were less than awesome before I became pregnant?"

"What? No."

"I have very nice breasts." Brennan continued, miffed. "Many people have told me so; both men and women. My girls have even been described as spectacular."

Booth laughed so hard he snorted. "Your girls?"

"Yes." She answered somewhat indignantly. "It is a trendy term for breasts."

"Of course."

Parker returned to the kitchen and Brennan pushed her plate toward Booth, blanching and shaking her head when he tried to push it back.

"We'll be back in a few hours."

"Have fun."

"Bye dad."

* * *

Parker's enthusiasm for shopping faded away the moment the gift was selected and the duo was forced to join the long line of customers waiting to pay for their products. As was their luck, the main registers were down, and all transactions were being processed through the computer at the returns/exchanges desk. He made a commendable effort to keep still as he endured price check after price check, countless card malfunctions and calls for the floor supervisor, but after the minutes passed and they found themselves still eight people away from the register, his restless fidgeting reached an all-time high.

Brennan was pulled out of her reverie by Parker's gentle tugging on the sleeve of her peacoat. Her thoughts had drifted absently to work - given the lack of focus required of her to shuffle forward every few minutes - and it took her a moment to remember where she was and why she had a child clamouring for her attention.

"What? What is it?" She finally responded as the gentle tugging grew more persistent.

"Can I get frozen yogurt?"

"I don't see why not." She shrugged. "We can stop at the kiosk after we've paid."

"Do we _have _to wait?" Parker sighed dramatically. "Can't I go get it while you pay, Bones? I'm a big kid; mom always lets me go by myself."

Brennan hesitated; while she was fairly certain Booth would be reluctant to let Parker go alone, she wasn't familiar with Rebecca's rules. As she debated, Parker began shifting his weight again and he energetically jumped forward to fill the space created by the line finally shifting forward one customer.

While Parker was extremely polite and well behaved, he was still an eleven year old boy; Brennan realized that the lack of activity had to be difficult for him. The kiosk _was _only around the corner, and it would give him something to do. She wasn't so new to watching Parker that she automatically believed Rebecca allowed him to wander off on his own every time they frequented the mall, but Parker wouldn't tell an outright lie, so she had to believe that under some circumstance, Rebecca had said it was okay. She knew he was permitted to ride his bike unaccompanied to the park three blocks away from Rebecca's house; perhaps this fell along the same lines.

Finally deciding that Parker was a growing boy who needed space to assert his independence, Brennan pulled out her wallet and removed a few bills.

"Very well. Should we purchase one for your father?"

At this, Parker screwed up his face in distaste. "No. Dad hates frozen yogurt. He says it's a girly, less delicious version of ice-cream. But yours is always good and so is my mom's, so I think it's okay."

Brennan rolled her eyes. "I'm very glad that you're decidedly less resistant to new things than Booth, Parker."

Parker grinned, "Thanks Bones."

She patted his blond curls affectionately. "Come straight back once you've received your order. I suspect you will finish before I will."

He nodded and eagerly took off toward the store doors.

Brennan watched Parker disappear around the bend, and then she took another step forward when someone behind her cleared their throat impatiently. Before she could once again lose herself in her thoughts, she felt the baby turn over, and she smiled. Thus far, their child had been remarkably still; still enough for her to voice concerns to her doctor. Booth had only felt her move twice so far, and Brennan herself felt less than a handful of motions on a weekly basis. According to her literature most fetuses were considerably more active by this stage, but numerous tests had been run (more for the sake of her own sanity than out of necessity) and the baby was undoubtedly healthy. Nevertheless, Brennan was always more solidly reassured when she felt direct proof of continued life in moments like this one.

When her turn came at the cash, Brennan was mentally reviewing the fracture pattern in the skull of their roller coaster body. The cashier repeated the total twice before it filtered through to her, and even then, while the voice registered, the amount did not. Because it suddenly occurred to her that Parker wasn't back yet. She glanced at her watch and made the alarming discovery that fifteen minutes had passed since she had allowed him to leave.

Impossible. Her watch was wrong.

The girl (in training, of course) was repeating the total for the third time when Brennan cut her off.

"What time is it?"

"Pardon?"

"The time. What time is it?" Brennan demanded urgently.

"Ten twenty?"

Without another word, Brennan ran out the exit with no thought to the items she had left on the belt or the confused voice calling after her. _Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid._ She didn't make mistakes like this. She couldn't. Not with Parker. Not with Booth's _son_. What had she been thinking? She knew better than anyone not to let children wander around on their own.

She thought of Carol and Richard Crawford and the way he hadn't even been able to _look _at his wife, and the thought of Booth sporting that face made her want to throw up. She rounded the corner to where the frozen yogurt kiosk was stationed in the middle of the wide hall; there was no one standing anywhere near it. And then true panic set in. Oh Parker. Oh God.

She pulled out her phone and called Booth as she changed direction and headed for the security office. Booth could get a team down here faster than any 911 operator, and security could shut down access in and out of the mall and pull up the cameras between Parker's point A and point B, and-

The sound of a child's laughter found her ears and she immediately halted. Because she knew that sound.

"_Hey Bones."_

She spun in circles, trying to find the direction she knew, she _knew _she had heard that laugh.

"_Bones?"_

And then there he was. Sitting on a bench down the opposite hallway, petting a labrador retriever and offering it bits of sticky yogurt under the owner's indulgent eye.

"_Bones."_

The sharp tone in her ear jarred her back to the phone still clutched in her hand, and she tried to have a conversation with Booth and watch Parker and control her heartbeat all at the same time with very minimal success. Except for the "watching Parker" part. Because he was never leaving her sight again.

"Yes?"

"You called _me_, Bones." Booth said irritably.

"Yes, well, I- my phone… I don't actually have reason to speak with you right now."

And then she hung up. She hung up, and her adrenaline secretions peaked. Her hands were shaking, everything seemed brighter, _louder_, and she was _furious_. She wanted to shake him. Booth's sweet son, who _liked _her for reasons she _still _couldn't understand, who was eleven years old and had yet to breach the hundred pound mark, and she wanted to grab him by both arms and _shake _until he felt the equivalent of the crippling combination of fear and nausea that continued to pulse through her own body. The last two weeks in the lab had been spent putting together what remained of small boys kidnapped from a similar mall, and Parker was sitting in the middle of the hall sharing his frozen yogurt with a dog. The violence of her thoughts stung her, and as Parker finally looked up and met her eyes, shame joined her myriad of emotions. She was not at all fit to watch over children. She would be one of those people who lost control and shook their babies.

Parker's face grew solemn as he watched her approach him, and he stood up and instinctively reached out to touch her, seeking reassurance. Brennan visibly recoiled and ignored the devastated fall of his face; it was for his own good; he wasn't safe around her.

"It's time to leave, Parker. Your father expects me to return you to his home before lunch." She stated monotonously.

Parker perceptively picked up on her phrasing as quickly as his father would have. "It's your home too, Bones. It's _our _place; dad says so."

Brennan's chest tightened.

"I have my own place, Parker." She reminded him clinically, beginning a quick pace down the corridor toward the exit that left Parker trotting to keep up. "And I will be returning there as soon as I drop you off."

* * *

Parker did his best to stay quiet and still. When he upset his mother, he knew that the fastest way to make her forget being angry was to be extra polite and helpful. Cleaning his room, clearing the table, doing the dishes without being asked… those were all good choices. He had tried to do the laundry once, but that had been less than successful. When his father was angry or irritated with him, usually all it took was an apology (but he had to mean it; his dad could always tell if he didn't). But he had never seen Bones angry with him before… not really. He didn't know how to start fixing that. They'd been driving for what felt like forever, and she hadn't said a word since they had left the mall.

He squirmed in his seat as his desire to erase this tension warred against the part of him that sensed silence was his best bet for the moment. At the end of it all, however, he was only eleven years old. He couldn't keep from talking indefinitely. Bones was his dad's girlfriend; even though they were different in a lot of ways, they were the same in a lot of ways as well. Maybe she just needed to hear that he was sorry. He wasn't exactly certain what he had done that had been so bad (which was another weird thing, because usually he was pretty aware of what would and wouldn't get him in trouble) but he was definitely sorry he had made her so angry. His dad was going to _kill _him when she told.

"Hey Bones? I'm really sorry. I'm sorry for not coming back right away after I got the frozen yogurt, and for petting a stranger's dog – even though I wouldn't have gone anywhere with him if he asked – and for messing up my clothes when I dropped some. Oh, and for getting a large size without telling you that mom and dad never let me get anything bigger than a medium."

There. That covered everything. He turned hopeful eyes toward Brennan, but instead of seeing a smile, or any hint of the warm softness he had grown to expect from her, he was shocked to witness her brushing tears off her face roughly with the back of her hand.

His eyes widened in horror and panic set in. "Please don't cry." Parker begged, even as his own throat began to tighten. "I'm sorry. I mean it, Bones; I'm sorry."

Brennan shook her head and emitted a self-depreciating laugh. "You're a wonderful boy, Parker." She told him huskily.

"So… you're not mad at me?" Parker questioned tentatively.

"I'm not sure what I am." Brennan admitted so quietly he had to strain to hear her.

They pulled up to the curb in front of Booth's building and Brennan swiftly climbed out of the car. Parker took his time getting out and dragged his feet toward the entrance.

"Come on." Brennan urged as she held open the door.

"Aren't you going to put your car beside dad's?"

Brennan sighed, "I've already told you, Parker, I'm not staying. I have work to do."

"But _why_?"

"I refuse to keep having variations of the same conversation with you. Inside. Now."

Parker's jaw dropped. Her impatience with him was more unexpected than her crying. And then the shock wore off and he got angry. If _she _was allowed to be angry for no good reason, then so was he. He stomped past her into the lobby and punched the elevator button with a lot more force than was necessary.

* * *

Booth was sweeping broken bits of bread off the kitchen floor when the violent pounding began on the front door. Knowing Bones had left with her key, he frowned and propped the broom against the counter before ambling toward the apartment entrance. The impatient racket continued incessantly, and he felt his own irritation climbing.

"Hold on! Jesus." He swung the door open and looked down at his son in surprise. "Parker. Where's-

Before he could finish the sentence, Parker scowled and stormed past him. The little boy headed straight for his bedroom and slammed the door.

Well that was weird.

Booth poked his head into the hallway in time to see Brennan come around the corner from the elevators at a much more subdued pace.

"You two have a fight?" He inquired neutrally.

The words were light, but Booth couldn't keep the confusion off his face. Parker adored Bones… from what he had observed the feeling seemed to be mutual. He couldn't say he had ever seen Parker look so angry, and Bones look so exhausted, after a couple hours alone together.

"Did he find his way inside?" Brennan asked. She knew full well that Booth would notice she hadn't answered his question, but at this point she couldn't bring herself to care in the least.

"Yeah, he's in his room. What happened?"

The stark panic in her eyes made his stomach flip. She had the 'trapped animal' look that told him she was about to disappear for a week without another word. Obviously, something had happened between her and Parker, but he couldn't imagine what his son could have possibly done to _scare _her. Maybe Parker had called her 'mom' by accident. Maybe he had brought up marriage.

At these musings, Booth gave his head a mental shake; that wasn't being fair to her. Whatever had her troubled wouldn't be as trivial as that. Besides, Parker was a young boy; he was possibly the only other person who asked awkward questions as casually and bluntly as she did. She'd never been fazed before; she just answered him in that truthful, equally blunt manner of hers that often made Booth cringe. It worked for the two of them.

"I'm going home." She placed her hands on her hips and tilted her jaw upwards, daring him to challenge her decision.

"Okay." Booth replied slowly. "Are we still on for tomorrow?"

"No."

Booth raised his eyebrows. Alright, they were doing painful monosyllables. Perfect.

"Come on," he forced a laugh, "it's my birthday. You're not allowed to blow me off on my birthday; it's against the rules."

"I'm sorry Booth, but I have a lot of catching up to do in the lab."

Booth watched in disbelief as she pivoted quickly and headed back toward the elevators.

"Bones, you don't even have your computer! It's sitting on the coffee table!"

She made no move to return for it and Booth sighed.

Things had run with varying degrees of smoothness since they fell into their romantic relationship in the same turbulent manner as their partnership had begun. Most of the time, they were good. And then there were minefields neither of them could prepare for that had them screaming in each other's face, slamming doors, and storming out of apartments. He could handle that; he had been handling that for years. What he couldn't handle was silence. They spent their time dancing on a precipice, always moments away from something disastrous, and when Brennan got too lost in her head to even argue with him, it meant he'd gotten just a little too close to a fragile ledge and the ground was about to collapse under his feet. The hard truth was hitting him now that something had to change, because they couldn't keep the dance up for the rest of their lives. He had convinced himself that eventually, even though they both had pasts and wicked tempers to boot, all insecurities would be addressed and discussed in good time; the pieces would click into place. But if _Parker _could send her running, then there wasn't much hope for him. And Parker shouldn't have to feel as if an accident on his part made him responsible for Bones leaving.

Under ordinary circumstances, Booth would grab a beer and try his best to lose himself in a game, but today his primary concern was his son. Heaving another sigh, Booth let go of all fantasies of an easy going weekend and turned his back to the hallway, stepping into his apartment and shutting the door with an unwelcome air of finality.

* * *

Brennan pulled into the underground parking lot at her complex for the first time since the night she and Booth had moved the majority of her belongings into his apartment. She parked in the familiar space and shut off the engine, and the next step should have been removing her seatbelt but her hands were shaking. Again. Lists; lists were helpful. Remove keys. Unfasten seatbelt. Pick up purse. Open driver door. Exit vehicle.

She followed the steps one at a time and then she was standing outside her car staring at the entrance to her building. A building she hadn't set foot in for over a month. It shouldn't be this hard. So why did she feel like stepping into her building was equivalent to discarding everything she had achieved with Booth over the course of the past year, let along the past month?

She adjusted the shoulder strap of her purse, squared her shoulders, and took one stubborn step toward the door. And then another, and then another. She again resorted to lists. To a series of tasks she could focus on completing so that she could deny herself a capacity to think of anything else. Step by step she made her way up to her apartment, and she was clenching her key indecisively in her hand when the door suddenly swung open from the inside.

"Tempe." Her father stopped short.

"Dad." She recovered from her minor scare and an annoyed frown temporarily marred her features. She hated being startled. "What are you doing here?"

"I was in the area; hadn't seen you in a while so I thought I'd drop by. You didn't answer the door. Obviously."

"So you just broke in?" Brennan scolded, "That's illegal. And I'm not living here right now; I've moved in with Booth. A simple call to my cell phone would have prevented any confusion."

"You know I don't like those things, Tempe." Max smiled, "Makes keeping tabs on a guy way too easy; no thanks. Besides, it all worked out; here you are. You look beautiful, by the way. How's my granddaughter treating you?"

Max moved forward to kiss her cheek, and the affectionate gesture was almost enough to move her to tears. She didn't deserve it.

She took a step back. "I'm fine. I have to go."

Max's relaxed grin quickly turned serious. "Did you say you moved in with Booth?"

"Temporarily. It's- I…we're… it would take significantly more time to explain our current arrangement than I am willing to spare at this moment." She took another step backward.

"Where _is _Agent Booth?"

Brennan stopped. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" Her father asked innocently.

"You only refer to him as 'Agent Booth' when you're unhappy, and you're contemplating engaging him in discourse that will – statistically – end in physical violence. Booth hasn't done anything to upset me. Leave him alone."

"He's clearly done something."

Brennan had resumed her retreat down the hallway, but her father's insistence made her pause a second time. "Promise me that you'll stay away from Booth's apartment."

Max raised an eyebrow and simply stared, indicating that he had no intentions of promising any such thing.

"I mean it, dad; Parker is staying with u- with Booth this weekend. He doesn't need to see his father and his science teacher beating the crap out of each other."

Booth would have approved of the colloquial expression. But Booth wasn't here, and she didn't want to be either. She had been temporarily distracted by the surprise of seeing her father, but the full weight of her thoughts and actions were swiftly rushing back to her, and she didn't want to talk to her father any more than she wanted to talk to Booth.

"Promise." She repeated sternly.

"Fine, I won't go to Booth's apartment." Max agreed easily. After all, it wasn't as if he couldn't find a way around that exact scenario. "Tempe, you should come inside."

Brennan shook her head fiercely. "I have to go."

She turned on her heel and sped down the hallway, and when her father called after her, she began planning a new series of steps to carry her through to a location far from this one.

* * *

_Is Bones with you?_

Booth fired a rapid text to Angela – somewhat illegally – as he drove away from Rebecca's house. As was usual, once one thing went wrong in his day, a million and one irritants were soon to follow. He had tried calling her apartment first, only to have Max – of all people – answer. Of course, her father hadn't offered any sort of explanation as to what the hell he was doing in her apartment; oh no. He had just jumped into a full rampage liberally sprinkled with threats of bodily harm. Because, apparently, Booth was just such an asshole that _anything _wrong with Brennan _had _to be traceable back to him. Because his girlfriend's neuroses couldn't _possibly _be the fault of the man who had abandoned her at fifteen. What. The. Fuck.

_No. I haven't talked to her since we left work. What's up?_

Damn it. That just left the Jeffersonian. If she wasn't there, he wouldn't know where to start looking for her. Hopefully she was still in the country; he'd like to think she had more sense than to jump on a plane to some remotely located dig while nearly six and a half months pregnant, but what did he know? If she were around, she'd probably be telling him that all the women in the Who-the-Hell-Gives-a-Shit tribe slaved in mud pits right up until delivery.

_Never mind._

_Trouble in Paradise, Handsome?_

_Never mind, Angela._

Booth threw the phone upon the passenger seat and thumped a hand against the steering wheel in frustration. He hadn't wanted to chase after her again. He had fully intended to let her retreat to her apartment with no interference from him if she needed space _that _badly. But after he had spoken with Parker – who, minor tantrum aside, was no worse for wear – he hadn't been able to shake that gut feeling that something was very, very wrong. He had tried to wade his way through Parker's young perspective on what had happened at the mall, but he hadn't been able to ascertain anything other than the fact that something had upset her very deeply.

"_She's really mad, dad."_

"_She seems mad because she's scared, and a lot of the time acting mad helps you forget that you're scared for a while. Do you understand, bub?"_

_Parker answered his father's question with a question of his own. "Does this mean you're not gonna be girlfriend and boyfriend anymore? Do we have to give back the pool key?"_

_Booth refrained from rolling his eyes. "No, Parker. Bones isn't going to take back her key. She's still my girlfriend, you still get your pool, and she still loves you every bit as much as you love her."_

_Satisfied, Parker nodded. "Can we call her?"_

_This time Booth's groan was audible, "Buddy, let's give her some time to herself, okay?"_

But despite his advice to Parker, he had scarcely made it another ten minutes before he made the decision to phone Rebecca and see if she'd be willing to watch their son for a few hours. He was hoping he didn't have to give up the entirety of what remained of his weekend with Parker over this, but at the rate events were spiralling, he wouldn't be surprised if it came to that.

By the time he reached the Jeffersonian he had a plan of action. Sort of. He would do a quick search of the bone room and her office, and then he would tackle bone storage. If he still couldn't find her, he would head to the Hoover and set about triangulating her cell phone location. It's not like it would be the first time he had violated her privacy for the greater good.

As he had expected on some level, the lab was deserted, and both the bone room and her office were as dark as she had left them the previous day. He ran down the stairs to bone storage, and he found that the mental map required to locate her the last time he had been down here for a reason such as this one, was entirely unnecessary this time around. In the still quiet of the building, the sound of her crying echoed.

Booth found her pacing back and forth in an aisle not far from the staircase, and when he gently cleared his throat he was again faced with the sad, skittish eyes of a caged animal.

"I thought you'd have had some caveman all laid out in the bone room already." He broke the ice gently.

"I am excreting an excessive amount of lachrymal fluid." She managed to say. "I have no desire to compromise the bones, therefore I am refraining from contact with them until such point as I can _just stop_. Why can't I stop?"

She was crying. Hard. He had only seen her break down like this once before, and he would have given any number of his limbs to keep her from having to endure that kind of hurt again. "Baby..."

He took a step toward her and she jumped back. "Please don't touch me. You were wrong; you said it would be okay, and it's not. You make me feel so many things, and now parts of me hurt that never did before. I'm not ready. I'm not ready! I'll never be ready."

She wasn't talking about one solitary aspect of their relationship this time; she meant everything. It was clear to Booth that she had reached the end of her rope. And that included everything from being with him to…

"I thought you were coming around to the idea of a baby. You've seemed pretty happy." Booth tried his best to keep anything that could be construed as judgemental out of his tone.

"No." She sobbed, "I'm not happy. We've made a very big mistake, Booth."

He closed the distance between them despite her choked noise of protest and clasped her hand. "Bones, hey, I know this is hard on you, I know it's asking a lot, but I have so much faith in you, baby. There isn't anything in the world that you can't do."

"You don't understand." She whispered, purposefully staring anywhere but directly at his face and finding herself unable to muster the energy to begin listing all the things in the world she most definitely couldn't do.

"Then _make _me understand, Bones. _Make _me understand."

Booth moved a hand to the back of her neck and drew her head toward his. She didn't resist him. She touched her lips to his so lightly he would have questioned the contact were it not for the salty taste of tears that soon transferred and overwhelmed him. He tasted her sadness. He tasted her fear. He tasted something that seemed to reach beyond her desolation… a reluctance of sorts. Like she couldn't bring herself to end the kiss but she couldn't take it deeper either. And when she pulled away with painstaking slowness, when she drew her tongue over her lips to taste remnants of him without opening her eyes, he understood. He knew what it felt like to try and memorize the contours of something precious to you before letting it go, and he saw the same concentration in her face that had filled him when he had stood with her in an airport and believed he wouldn't see her for a year. She was going to run, but, for once, she was going to say goodbye first.

They had never said goodbye before. Never. There were no 'eventuallys' after goodbye; goodbye was as final as death.

"No." He whispered, touching his forehead to hers and stroking the soft skin at the nape of her neck. "Don't."

Brennan's eyes fluttered open and she brought a hand up to his cheek. "You are the best thing I have found in my life, Booth. Thank you for loving me."

Her eyes were open and willing in a way she had never consciously allowed them to be before. Vulnerable. She was deliberately permitting him to _see _her in a manner that usually made her uncomfortable; she was inviting his gaze.

And then he blinked and it was gone. All of it. She couldn't seem to stop crying altogether, but her wall was up and her eyes were blank.

"I need to be by myself. I'll come back, Booth, I'm not sure of exactly when, but I will come back. Right now, I need time and space."

"Why didn't you stay at your apartment?" Booth asked suddenly.

Confusion coloured her features, but it was an emotion, and he was glad for it.

"My father was there."

"No." Booth shook his head, "That's not an excuse; you've kicked your dad out of your apartment a hundred times before; he's probably the only person who's been thrown out of there more times than I have. If you had wanted to stay, you would have stayed."

Something about this line of questioning made her anxious. Maybe it was because staying hadn't occurred to her, but she knew it should have. Maybe it was simply because Booth seemed to know the answer to some bigger question that he hadn't asked yet, and it made her feel like a suspect.

"I will call you in a few days." She pushed away from him, but he stepped into her path.

"No; you told me you were going to go back to your apartment, but you didn't. You came here. Why?" She wouldn't look at him and he shook her shoulder to force her attention back to his face. "_Why?_"

"I don't know. I don't remember."

"Because we have under two months left of this "experiment," and even though you're upset, you got to your place and the thought of going in and throwing the last month out the window _bothered _you. You want _all _of this to work; you, me, our daughter… you don't want to be alone."

"I need to go." She muttered.

Booth caught her wrist gently as she tried to pass him. "Talk to me. _Tell _me what happened. We can fix it."

Brennan pulled her hand back and tried to wipe the sting out of her eyes. "You can't 'fix' me, Booth. People don't change."

"I know you love her. I know you do. And I know you love me, and you love Parker. Whether you say it aloud or not, your actions speak volumes, Bones. No one's asking for more than what you can give."

"It's _because _I love her." Brennan shouted suddenly, unconsciously cradling her stomach with one hand. "And because love doesn't stop people from doing terrible things. Because Parker also means a great deal to me and I almost… I wanted to…"

She couldn't bring herself to say the words.

"_What?_" He pleaded.

"You'll stop loving me." Brennan warned resignedly. "It's selfish, but even now, I don't want to give that up."

"I could never stop loving you." He took her hand again and refused to let her pull away. "I tried that once, remember? You're stuck with me. I know you, Bones. You have the biggest heart… what could you have possibly done that you think is terrible enough to warrant all this?"

So she sat on the ground and he sat beside her, not touching her. And they were exactly where they had been four and a half months ago when she had thought that the problem would be an inability to feel anything for this child and she couldn't have known that the real problems would begin when she began to feel too much for her. When she stopped seeing her as a fetus and started thinking of her as a little girl who would stare at her with Booth's eyes, unable to understand how someone who was supposed to protect her could lose her temper so violently.

Booth felt as emotionally drained as she looked, but he knew deep down in his gut that he was only going to get one chance to pull her back from this. He spread his legs out in front of him so that his position mirrored hers, and just like he had four and a half months ago, he waited. He waited as she dried her face with her sleeves, he waited until her fingers uncurled from those tense fists she made when she was upset, he waited until this time, _her _hand tentatively searched the gap between them for his own.

When she found those strong fingers she entwined them with hers and held on with the same fierce desperation he had seen in her face. And when she was sure he couldn't leave, not without taking her hand with him, she began to speak.

* * *

Her admission was followed by a period of such lengthy silence, she took it to mean that she had finally pushed Booth too far. Because hadn't it always only been a matter of time? Her heart thudded out of rhythm in her chest, fast and painful, in the face of this new reality. At the devastating loss of Booth. She began to pull her hand away – because his touch _hurt_ – but he suddenly tightened his grip and effectively trapped her fingers within his own.

"Shawn Cook."

"What?" Her voice was hoarse from crying, and she winced at the sound.

"Sometimes I watch you with Parker, and I think about that case. About the Cook boys. Given our current case, I'd say it's closer to the front of my mind than usual, but… back then you and I were finally building a rapport; I had read your file, and I was so sure that I had figured out how you ticked. That I knew close to all of you. And now, now I know that I'm going to spend my whole life trying to figure you out and you're still going to surprise me. And I love that about you."

She could discern little relevance between this and her current – valid – concern. More than anything it seemed, to her, as if Booth were trying to appeal to her on an emotional level when what she really needed were hard facts. He confused her when he spoke like this; he muddled the waters. And she couldn't afford to be confused right now. She tried to pull her hand away again, but Booth held tight and quickly resumed his speech, as if he could somehow sense that he was running out of time.

"I told you that you were bad with people, I implied that you were even worse with children, and you looked at me and you said, _trust me_. Trust me, Booth. And what struck me as I watched you with Shawn in that interrogation room, what _still _blows my mind, is that you went in there knowing that it would give away a very well protected secret of yours. You had advocated for those boys from the very beginning, but you never let it slip that you had been in foster care – even in the face of my insensitivity – and you lied to me about having a Grandfather after everything was over in order to downplay the damage it had done to you. But to help Shawn, to get justice for Charlie, you were willing to give something of yourself you wouldn't have otherwise. You would have given _all _of yourself for them. I know that about you."

"A capacity for love and empathy isn't the issue anymore, Booth." She said tiredly, making one last effort to reclaim her hand only to resign herself to the contact when he stubbornly squeezed tighter. "My parents loved me; I'm sure that on some level, your father loved you. I'm equally certain that knowledge didn't make it any easier to endure my parents' abandonment or your father's violent beatings."

Now it was Booth's turn to wince. "We're not the poster children for happy childhoods; I think that's been pretty well established. But my point is, kids with pasts, kids like Shawn, they can spot a hidden agenda in a second. They see to the heart of people. He wouldn't talk to me, but he talked to you. He saw a part of you that I didn't know existed back then. And Parker… I've watched you with my son for years… in his mind, in his memories, he's known you his whole life."

He hesitated for a second and it piqued Brennan's curiosity, because it was the kind of pause Booth had a habit of making when he was contemplating revealing something personal.

"Say it, Booth."

Booth rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand and exhaled deeply. "Parker's sharp. He's got a sense for people and he sees _everything_. He always has. I guess you know that."

"Yeah." She answered softly. Affectionately. "I do."

"Parker never liked Jared when he was little. Something about Jared made him… uneasy. He never said anything, but he got clingy when Jared was around, and shy, and my son isn't either of those things. I've made decisions that I'm not proud of, but Jared… I think we've all got darkness in us, but it's important to acknowledge it. To accept that it's there. I love Jared, and I guess he's working at being a better person, but back then he could never find fault in his own behaviour. And that made my brother… dangerous. Parker saw that before I was ready to."

"Parker has always liked me." Brennan stated, finding herself on sure ground. Her world had been shaken today, but this was something she knew, even if she didn't understand it. "You're trying to use your son's gut as proof of my character. But it's not objective data, Booth. How can you expect me to accept your son's feelings for me as evidence when I still occasionally struggle with accepting _your _gut instincts as valid?"

"Because _I _accept his feelings for you as evidence, Temperance." Booth said with grave conviction. "If I thought for one second that you could hurt my son, I would end this. Immediately. No matter how much it hurt. If he acted around you the way he used to act around Jared, I would have to put his comfort and well-being first."

"You weren't there today."

"No, I wasn't. But Parker was, and he still loves you just as much as he did this morning. His primary concern when I dropped him off at Rebecca's was for that damn pool again."

"You took him back to Rebecca?" Brennan asked guiltily. She knew how much Booth treasured time with his son, and learning that he had sacrificed some of that time in order to come after her made her feel significantly worse than she already did.

Booth shrugged. "Just until I talk you out of doing something crazy. All of his stuff is still at our place."

She tensed slightly at his intentional use of a pluralized possessive, but the crushing anxiety of before had lessened. "I don't know, Booth."

"Consider this your official welcoming into parenthood, Bones. I've been there; I scared the shit out of Parker during that whole "Epps" nightmare. I probably could have handled that better, and maybe you could have handled the situation at the mall today better, but it's done. Parents make mistakes. This kid is lucky to have you, and Parker and I are too."

Brennan sighed and a small shudder of relief ran through her. When Booth was nearby, providing comfort in that calm, sure way of his, nothing seemed as worthy of panic. However, she was having difficulty figuring out whether that was good or bad; _had _she overreacted? Or was Booth's assurances to the contrary ultimately going to make things worse if/when she _did _lose her temper and shake their baby?

The child in question shifted inside her and her throat tightened. It was the hormones; it had to be. There was no other way to explain how she could feel so attached to something she had yet to touch or see outside sonograms. It didn't matter how she tried to rationalise it; it didn't matter how many times she reminded herself (the same way she had reminded Zack, once) that humans were hardwired to protect their young, this went beyond that. And the feeling was intensifying every day. She couldn't control it.

She tried to pull her hand away from Booth's in order to give him a chance to feel the rare movements, but he resisted the same way he had all the times before.

"She's moving. I'm not going anywhere, I just thought you would want to feel her."

"Oh." Booth immediately surrendered her hand and placed his palm where she indicated.

"Anything?"

"No." He shook his head, but when Brennan took his hand and adjusted its position slightly, Booth's face split into a wide grin. "How 'bout that? The kid agrees with me."

"That's not possible, Booth. Her ability to hear your voice doesn't automatically bestow upon her the means to understand you."

Booth barely heard her. He savoured the motion under his hand and couldn't keep himself from hunching over and pressing a soft kiss to her abdomen through her thin shirt. Her recently-freed hand automatically tangled itself in his hair, and when he straightened, the smile that he saw on her face was bittersweet at best.

"What is it?" The words were barely out of his mouth before he regretted them, since she suddenly looked like she might start crying again.

"Love is an idiot." She said morosely.

Booth relaxed and chuckled. The last time he had heard those words come out of her mouth, he had been irritated. This time was different. Her emotions were running all over the place today; he couldn't blame her for making a fall-guy out of love.

"Nah, Bones. I think today, you were the idiot; this got blown totally out of proportion." His tone was both chiding and affectionate, and Brennan gave a watery laugh, the way he had hoped she would. "You've gotta stop running off on me, okay? You're giving me a complex."

Brennan nodded. "I will do my best."

* * *

Brennan insisted on going to the door alone when they arrived at Rebecca's town house. Though she had interacted with Rebecca in both group and individual settings many times – even before beginning her romantic relationship with Booth – Rebecca wasn't someone with whom Brennan shared a close enough bond to express deep feelings. Today, however, she felt an effort was necessary.

Rebecca pulled open the door and smiled. "Temperance, hey. Where's Seeley?"

She peeked around Brennan to the SUV, where Booth raised a hand in greeting from the driver's seat. She gave a confused wave back.

"Booth is in the car." Brennan stated unnecessarily, "I asked him to wait there. I wanted to speak with you."

"Oh. Alright." Rebecca did an admirable job of hiding her surprise and stepped out onto the porch, closing the door behind her and zipping up her sweater against the cold. "What's up?"

"I want to extend my gratitude to you for watching Parker. I'm not certain how much Booth told you, but I came very close to making a very poor decision."

"He's my son, Temperance; of course I don't mind watching him." Rebecca continued to smile, but even Brennan could see that she was confused.

"Well, yes. What I mean to say is, I'm not only grateful that you displayed a willingness to watch Parker, I'm grateful that you are willing to give him back." She hesitated. "That came out wrong; Parker is not an object to be possessed. I simply meant that Booth very much enjoys the time he spends with Parker, and I would have felt very bad were he forced to cancel all his plans for the weekend because he felt obligated to tend to me."

The confusion cleared. "It's not a problem; sometimes things happen. It takes a lot less energy getting along with Seeley than it ever did fighting with him. I'm glad we're past that; Parker thinks it's fun that he gets two _sets_ of parents instead of just two." She rolled her eyes.

Brennan grinned, "I believe that I like you much better now than I did when I first met you."

Rebecca nodded, accepting the awkward sort-of-compliment in the spirit in which it had been intended. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Parker finally opened the door and bounded past her, and Brennan returned his enthusiastic greeting. Once they reached the apartment, she would issue him a proper apology, but for now it was simply nice to see that she hadn't turned him permanently against her. She began to follow him to the vehicle when Rebecca called to her.

"Temperance?"

"Yes?"

Rebecca paused. "I know you're incredibly intelligent, but I feel like I should…" she squinted thoughtfully, "Pregnancy is an emotional roller coaster; believe me, I remember. It's hard, so… cut yourself a break, okay? Don't expect perfection of yourself. And let Seeley help you; there isn't anything he wouldn't do for your benefit."

Brennan nodded slowly. "I will take that under advisement."

When she climbed back into the SUV, Booth watched her curiously as he waited for her to fasten her seatbelt. "What was that about?"

"Nothing." She answered, taking a deep breath and directing a genuine smile Booth's way. "Let's go home."


	7. Chapter 7

_Darling, oh, don't break this little heart of mine,  
there's no greater love than this love of yours and mine.  
You walk with your head in the sky;  
darling, don't ever pass me by.  
I ain't goin' no further,  
because you got me chained and bound._

**_Chained and Bound, _**_Otis Redding_

The next two weeks brought them well into December, and with the new month came breaks in their cases, suspect apprehensions and closure. The roller-coaster body had fallen neatly into the "crimes of jealousy" category, but the abduction/murder cases had robbed both Booth and the squints of everything they had. In the end it had all come back to Taylor Johnson; their last missing boy had been found buried in his uncle's basement alongside what remained of Andrew Crawford. For the first time ever, Booth had seen Cam tear up at a crime scene.

The team had been so far past exhausted they hadn't been able to muster the strength to comfort or reassure one another of continued good in the world, so they had walked to the bar in complete silence.

While the rest of the team had drank the Founding Fathers dry, Booth had driven home and guided Brennan's sleep-march up to the apartment. When she woke at ten thirty the next morning, it was to an empty bed and a note in Booth's messy scrawl informing her that he had taken the liberty of calling Cam to tell her that her star anthropologist was using a personal day. Brennan would have phoned him just to yell at him had she not promptly fallen back asleep.

Following this, Booth came to almost regret giving her a full day to relax, because as it turned out, his partner was a lot easier to handle when she was sleep deprived. She had been burning the candle at both ends, and with her focus resting one hundred percent on the cases, she had shelved all her own physical discomforts and emotions. He was discovering that while she still conducted herself with utmost professionalism at work, there were an infinite number of things he did in their personal time that now pissed her off. If he moved the thermostat a degree, she yelled at him. If he washed dishes and left them in the draining bin instead of drying them immediately, she yelled at him. Just that morning she had yelled at him for leaving a file on the coffee table that he happened to _know _she was responsible for placing there. After all, what the hell use would a folder full of x-rays have been to _him_?

They had been forced to drive to work separately that morning due to Booth's being called to a new crime scene and Brennan had scowled as Booth talked to Cam on the phone, though she had tried to console herself with the fact that she would _still _get her turn with the body once it reached the lab. But, to make matters worse (for Brennan), there had been enough flesh left on the skull for an identification to be made with relative ease; temporarily shutting her out of lab participation as well as field participation. Brennan felt left out, and it was for that reason that - her current tempestuousness aside - Booth couldn't help making a quick stop at the lab before heading out to interview the victim's boyfriend.

"Booth! Hi!"

Booth came to an abrupt halt just inside Brennan's office doorway and stared at his partner uneasily. Eight years, _eight _years, and never once had she pounced on him so enthusiastically following his arrival.

"…Hi?" The response came out more like a question than a greeting, and he took a cautious step forward. "Are you feeling alright?"

Brennan nodded energetically. "Are you ready for lunch? Would you like to go for coffee? Unless you're here for work?... Cam isn't finished with the body yet and she won't let me touch it. Perhaps you could speak to her; she vetoed my 'get out of jail free' card, and I'm questioning the validity of that underhanded strategic play. I believe you should thoroughly explain the rules of Monopoly to me in the near future so that I am better suited to challenge her decision the next time such a problem arises."

She began to rise from her seat, and the motion finally spurred Booth out of his shocked stand-still enough to move toward her and trap her movement.

"Whoa. What is with you?" he asked with a laugh. Her smile was lovely and vibrant, and he felt that familiar rush of love for her flood straight to his head. "Have you been inhaling meth again? Because I gotta tell you, Bones, I know it's your body and you don't appreciate me telling you how to treat it, but I'm thinking that's not so good for the baby."

"I'm not high, Booth!" Brennan protested, "Am I not permitted to display enthusiasm for my job?"

Booth squinted at her face with justifiable suspicion; a face that was carefully schooled into picture perfect innocence. "You're bored," he concluded with a smirk. "You're beyond bored. You're driving yourself crazy."

He leaned far into her personal space – interrogation style – and all but dared her to lie to him. Brennan stared back impassively, but impatience won out in the end and she tipped her hand in her usual blunt fashion.

"If you do not pressure me to provide you with a truthful response to that question, I will have sex with you right now in my office."

Booth blinked. "Bones, contrary to what Angela tells you, you seriously can't just use sex to manipulate me."

"Why? In the past it's proven to be an effective form of negotiation," Brennan said dejectedly.

"It's not right, Bones. How would you feel if I started doing the same thing?"

Brennan frowned and ran that potential scenario through her mind; she liked sex. She liked sex a lot. If Booth started withholding sex to prove a point, she was pretty sure 'frustrated' wouldn't even begin to cover it.

"I believe I would not like that at all," Brennan finally responded definitively.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

"Okay, fine. Perhaps I'm feeling… under-stimulated, at the moment, but it is very difficult staying in the lab full-time. Objectively, I know I did this for years before meeting you, and in my current condition I would be less than efficient assisting you in 'taking down suspects.' However, I'm finding I very much miss the field aspects of our partnership."

Booth gave her a sympathetic half smile and crouched down to eye level. "That's understandable, Bones. Just remember that it's only temporary, okay? And it's for a pretty great cause."

His signature megawatt smile broke out and Brennan felt marginally reassured in spite of herself. "I suppose you're right," she conceded.

Booth pushed his hand beneath her blouse and placed it gently over the taut skin of her belly.

"I wish you wouldn't do that at work," she sighed.

"What? Two minutes ago you were proposing sex in your office, and _this _you're gonna start complaining about?" Booth quipped.

The steady stream of kicking prompted by the warmth of Booth's hand and the low rumble of his voice prevented the minor argument from escalating.

Brennan and Booth exchanged a soft smile and she shifted slightly in her chair as Booth leaned forward and moved his hand slowly across her stomach. When a wayward kick hit a rib, Brennan jerked away from his hand and inhaled sharply. "Ouch, Booth! I realize it's unlikely she will actually succeed in cracking a rib, but the sensation is still quite painful!"

"Sorry," Booth answered sheepishly. However, he couldn't quite hide his pride. "And to think you spent all those months worrying about her. Look how strong she is now."

"What? You were worried about her, too."

"Nah," he winked. "She's like her mom; she does everything when she damn well pleases."

They shared a look and then Booth reluctantly straightened her blouse and stood.

"I gotta run. I've got one last interview with our vic's boyfriend and then there's a ton of stuff waiting for me back at the office. I'll meet you at home."

"Wait!" Brennan called desperately. "I want to come."

"What? Bones, you can't come with me," Booth answered somewhat condescendingly.

"Why not?" she frowned.

"Bones, _real_ cops as pregnant as you are don't go out in the field. There's no way."

"Do you have reason to believe the boyfriend to be dangerous?"

"Well, no."

"Does he have a criminal record of any kind?"

"No," Booth answered reluctantly.

"Come on, Booth! It's just an interview! I wanna come."

"You're whining, Bones. It's not attractive."

"Please?"

"No!"

She looked indignant, as if she couldn't understand how he could have possibly denied her when she had made a point of asking so politely. "But-

"No!"

"It's not like you're going out to make an arrest, Booth. You're just talking to him. I can't do anything more with the body until Cam finishes her examination. Just take me with you! What is the big deal?"

"The big deal is, well, it's…"

She raised an eyebrow as he scrambled for a legitimate reason. The truth was, he supposed that in the grand scheme of things it wasn't a big deal. But he had become so accustomed to arguing "no" the minute she tried tagging along – since sometime in the middle of last week she had decided that interviews were minimally dangerous and therefore didn't actually count as fieldwork – the negative response had come off his tongue automatically.

"Maybe he'll be guilty. If he runs, you can hit him! You like that. And I find your displays of physical prowess particularly arousing. Currently, more so than usual."

He sighed, "Baby, reminding me that he could be guilty isn't really helping your case."

"Oh," she hesitated. "Did you hear the part where I mentioned that I find your displays of physical prowess particularly arousing?"

He sighed again. Angela was a terrible influence.

"Oh alright fine. _But_," Booth held out a hand to stop her as she got out of her chair as quickly as she could and headed for her coat, "if any leads come out of this, your butt is coming back here before I follow up on them, okay?"

Brennan shrugged indifferently. "Of course, Booth."

Booth took her coat off its hook and held it open for her. "Your mother is impossible, you know," he began, resting his palm beneath the curve of her belly once her arms were securely in their sleeves.

"Booth, I'm standing right here. I can hear you."

"Do you mind? I'm trying to have a private conversation with my daughter. See what I have to put up with? Constant harassment. Never a moment's peace."

Brennan rolled her eyes. "I have to deal with your hands constantly all over my stomach. Which wouldn't be so bad if strangers didn't think they were entitled to do the same. I consider it fair trade."

"Well you just look so cute, people can't help themselves."

Booth tried to keep a straight face, but Brennan's immediate indignation made it impossible. The sound of his laugh echoed through the lab as they exited her office and she shoved him forcefully.

"I am _not _cute!"

* * *

"I overheard Wendall informing Hodgins that our victim's sister is a 'knockout,'" Brennan began.

"Huh? Oh. Yeah; she's an attractive young woman," Booth answered distractedly.

Brennan frowned. "What's wrong?"

He made a face and pulled at his collar, "I don't know, Bones. I just get the idea she wasn't totally truthful with me. I'll have a better feel for the situation after we talk to the boyfriend."

She tilted her head toward the computer screen. "Eric Franzon."

"Uh huh."

They fell into a brief silence, and then Brennan grinned. "Although it has only been not quite three weeks since I last accompanied you into the field, I find that I am very excited."

"Yeah well, don't get used to it," Booth said sternly. "This is the last time, Bones."

"Okay," she agreed easily, turning her head away from him with a smug smile.

"I can see your reflection in the window, smartass. I mean it."

"Okay!"

* * *

The street was quiet; the layer of snow D.C. had received in the night had yet to be disturbed. The snow was drifting lazily now; falling thinly, gently, and creating a serene winter wonderland instead of the blizzard nightmare of the previous evening.

Booth started around the SUV to assist Brennan, but naturally she slid out on her own before he could make it halfway. He settled for rolling his eyes, and he fell into step beside her as she picked her way carefully across the snow.

"Parker wants to go looking for a tree this weekend," Booth said conversationally, keeping an inconspicuous watch on his partner in case she slipped.

"That sounds appealing," Brennan stated. "Can I hold the saw? I'm very adept at-

Booth jerked her backward suddenly, and she stumbled before he steadied her. "Hey! What-

She cut herself off when she saw the grim look on his face and knew his mind was far from Parker and festive trees.

"Go back to the car," he said in an overly calm voice as his right hand hovered over his weapon.

Instead of following the order, Brennan craned her neck in an effort to peer around him and see what had caught his attention.

"Bones, I'm not fucking around. Get in the car, lock the doors, and call for backup."

"I can't just-

"Yes you can. And you will. Now. Or so help me God I will carry you back there and handcuff you to the steering wheel."

She did as he asked. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that he would do it if she pushed him. When she reached the car she paused to watch Booth kneel carefully beside a poinsettia plant and touch the ground, and it finally clicked. From a distance the red patches on the clean snow had looked like petals, but Booth had recognized it as blood right away.

Booth unholstered his gun and silently made his way up the porch steps. The footprints beside him leading away from the house were filled with a light dusting of snow, but the blood was still wet and visible. Whoever had been here hadn't been gone long. He peeked through the dirty front window, but aside from a broken lamp lying on the floor, he couldn't see anything clearly. Before he tried the front door he glanced back at the vehicle to reassure himself that Brennan had actually got inside it, but to his utter exasperation she was still standing outside the passenger door staring at him.

He gestured her onward, and she tugged exaggeratedly on the door handle, letting him know that it was locked. Christ, of all the…

He impatiently fumbled through his coat for his keys and hit the button on the remote, berating himself the entire time for letting her talk him into bringing her here. _This_ was the reason he should have thought of earlier. _This_ was the big deal. What an idiot.

The door was locked and he adjusted his hold on his weapon to give it a solid kick; the wood gave easily and the door swung open to reveal a bloody horror show. The sprays of blood over the walls and ceiling indicated that some sort of artery had been severed… he knew that much. He also knew that no one could survive that kind of blood loss… so where was the body?

Down the hall the misty lines of blood changed to dark pools in the carpet, and then they stopped. But Booth could see the drag marks toward the back door. He carefully checked the rest of the house – upstairs, downstairs and basement alike – before doubling back to the rear patio door leading to the backyard.

* * *

Brennan kept her gaze loyally fixed on the front door of the house across the street, and she fisted her hands in the material of her pants to try and ease the voice screaming at her to get out of the car and make sure Booth was okay. She had requested an ambulance when she had called dispatch – it had seemed prudent given the blood outside the house – but until it arrived she was much better qualified to assist an injured party than Booth was. That was _two _good reasons for her to get out of the car.

And then the baby kicked her solidly in the ribcage and she was reluctantly forced to admit to herself that maybe that small motion outweighed her two good reasons. "I'm not going anywhere," she murmured, distractedly pressing a hand to the abused spot. "Stop it."

And she really _wouldn't_ have gotten out of the car. Except then a man came hurrying down the sidewalk to the house, and she recognized him from Booth's photos, and when he reached the porch he pulled a _gas can_ out from beneath his bulky coat and Booth was in that house all alone...

She glanced rapidly between the porch and the rear-view mirror, torn and hoping backup would come flying into sight and take the decision out of her hands, but nothing appeared behind her. And as their victim's boyfriend – would it be fair to assume at this point that he was the murderer? – finished dousing the porch and headed for the backyard, disappearing from her sight, she knew she had to find Booth before he did.

She awkwardly climbed into the backseat, tumbling ungracefully onto the upholstery, and then she fumbled through the trunk for a protective vest, feeling quite pleased with herself for thinking of it. The self satisfaction faded from her face however when she finally located one and held it out in front of her… there was no way it was going to fit. Brennan tossed it aside in frustration and blew her bangs out of her face.

"Okay… ummm…" She hesitated with one hand on the door handle and let her other hand skirt across her stomach. "While I am aware that at this point you can hear me, you are still quite incapable of interpreting my speech in any sensible manner. Thus, despite my belief that in this circumstance Booth would most likely provide you with a detailed account of his planned course of action, I myself would be very uncomfortable doing so. Instead, I am going to allow you to take comfort in the calm calibre of my voice, and conclude, relying on the weeks of auditory data you've collected thus far, that neither one of us is in any imminent danger. Just Booth. Which is why I'm getting out of the car." She paused a moment to make sure she hadn't left anything out, and then she gave a satisfied nod and opened the door.

* * *

Booth was easing the sliding door open when he heard a male cry of pain.

"Booth!"

Shit. He should have handcuffed her to the goddamn steering wheel. Shit shit.

He rushed down the steps and rounded the back corner of the house toward the voice, and he found Brennan pushing violently against Franzon as the man struggled to hold on to her in one hand and his gun in the other. Her hair was wet. Why was her hair wet? Booth's eyes fell to the gas can turned over on its side beside them and his heart clenched; she was like a pyro-magnet. She really was. Most people got through life without almost being set on fire even once.

He pulled back the safety on his gun. "FBI. Let her go."

"I don't think so."

Franzon's hand was shaking and there was blood running freely from his nose. Bones had got at least one good hit in. Atta girl.

"He was going to burn evidence, Booth. I was trying to warn you but he caught me; my natural speed and agility have been compromised."

"You think?"

"He's a very good shot," she informed Franzon. "It would be in your best interest to surrender."

Franzon's expression turned momentarily confused before he shook his head and grim determination returned. Booth kept his gun steady and checked Brennan over from head to toe, searching for injuries but finding none. Well, besides the obvious fact that she was covered in gasoline. Only Bones could be seven months pregnant with a gun to her head, and still speak as casually to the man holding her hostage as she would the next door neighbour. When this was over, she was never, _never _leaving the lab again.

"Put your gun down or I'll shoot her."

The man was crazy, that much was apparent by this point, but he wasn't confident. He was cornered, and he would panic. And when he panicked, Booth was going to shoot him. It was as simple as that.

"You're not going to shoot her," Booth said matter-of-factly. "You're going to put your gun down. Because if you don't, _I'm _going to shoot _you_, and I guarantee I won't miss."

"She'll go up like a torch," Franzon threatened.

At this, Brennan stopped struggling and turned her head to stare at him incredulously. "That's highly unlikely."

"Bones, not now. He doesn't need you _helping _him set you on fire."

Her steady gaze was freaking him out. And then he panicked. Just like Booth had known he would.

The moment the gun moved in his direction, Booth pulled the trigger. Smooth. Fast. The way Brennan had seen him do many times before. Except then there was another sound; another gunshot. And as Franzon's body dropped behind her, Booth's body started to fall too.

"Booth?"

She rushed the few feet between them and half-caught him as he sank to his knees. She grunted under the weight, but she refused to let go. She dropped to her knees as well and eased him to the ground as gently as she could, and she felt her considerable level of panic sky rocket when she saw the blood soaking through her gloves. She hurriedly unzipped her coat and placed it under Booth's head, and then she stripped off her gloves and pressed her bare hands against his chest.

"Booth?"

"Bones, put your coat on."

"No."

"Bones, I mean it, put…" he coughed, "… put your coat on."

"_No_," she repeated stubbornly. He had been shot, and he was worried about her being _cold_?

"Booth," she choked, "I'm sorry. I was trying to help; I…" his eyes started to close, and she pushed harder on the wound, jarring him back into consciousness. "Come on, Booth. Please, _please_. I called for back-up; they'll be here soon. You just have to stay awake."

Booth's eyes started to drift shut once again, and Brennan mercilessly increased the pressure of her hand against his ribs. His eyes flew open and she gave a watery half-smile at the look of annoyance he sent her way. He made an attempt to push away her hands, but she shook her head and pressed harder still. "No. No, Booth we need to maintain steady pressure in order to minimize blood loss."

"A bit convenient, don't you think, Bones?" Booth wheezed with a half laugh. "You always did like it a little rough."

"No," she furrowed her brow, "I know what that means and that's not why I'm…" Her voice trailed off at Booth's pained smile. "You're teasing me," she realized belatedly.

There were sirens in the distance, but they were faint and a few mental calculations had her estimating their arrival being between three and five minutes away. She rolled Booth onto his side (ignoring his moan of protest) to try and get a sense of the damage, and as her hands traced the back of his ribcage her fingers caught on a tear in the fabric of his jacket. She pushed a finger through the hole and felt the somewhat reassuring outline of an exit wound.

"You've got that look on your face, Bones. The one you get when you're looking at one of our victims. I'm not dead _yet_."

Brennan scowled, "Don't say things like that, Booth. You're not at all amusing. The bullet went straight through; the trajectory angle leads me to believe that none of your major veins or organs have been damaged. You're going to be fine. Booth, you're going to be _fine_."

It came out a little more desperate than she had intended, but her head was full of images of Booth lying on a different floor while she stood above him and attempted a similar assessment. She had been certain, _certain_, that Booth's injuries had been non-life threatening. Painful? Of course. Requiring surgery and therapy? Certainly. But _not _life threatening. And then Booth had been ripped away from her and all her estimations on blood loss and bullet paths and ambulance response times hadn't meant anything. And she couldn't do that again.

The sirens were close now, and she could hear the gravel being kicked up by the speeding vehicles as they screeched to a stop. Agents were coming. And suddenly, as the first vests became visible, a new fear sprung up inside her. It was paralysing; creeping through her being and taking control. A parasite.

The last time she had trusted the bureau to take care of Booth, they had lied to her. She may be Booth's partner, but she wasn't a cop; they felt no obligation to keep her informed on anything. They barely tolerated her. They would lie to her again if it was convenient for them. If they thought it served a greater good. If she let them take Booth away, she would have no way of knowing when, or even if, she would see him again.

While the fear and panic tightened their hold on her, Booth drifted into unconsciousness once more. This time, regardless of the force she applied to his wounds, his eyes remained closed.

A second longer, and the FBI would be at her side.

"Seeing red" was a metaphoric expression. She had felt rage before; the kind that sent her adrenaline spiking and her vision spotting. She assumed that was the emotional, chemical equivalent to "seeing red." If that was true, what she was doing now would have to be metaphorically categorized as "seeing white." It wasn't heat consuming her; it was cold. Ice. And when the first federal agent reached out a hand to touch her, to pull her away from Booth, she didn't act out of anger; she acted out of fear. Out of feral instinct. Survival of the species at its most Darwinian. Her metaphoric heart wouldn't withstand another staged death.

The hand that dared to touch her was twisted to the point where an ounce more pressure would have broken the elbow. Then the fingers were bent backward until there was a dull crack, like stepping on twigs in a forest.

Another hand made contact with her skin, more forceful, and with a speed even Brennan's immodest mind couldn't have expected, she grabbed hold of the arm and rotated it in a quick, clock-wise arc.

"_Dr. Brennan_."

The voice sounded far away, but with the repetition, some of the fog slowly cleared.

"Dr. Brennan!"

Brennan whirled around to face the voice; hands assuming an attack stance and eyes wild.

"The medics are here," the voice spoke softly, careful to leave her space. "Let them do their job; if you calm down I can ask them to let you ride in the ambulance."

The buzzing in her ears faded away as her heartbeat slowed. She blinked, and she was Temperance Brennan once more; all metaphoric whites so far away from her it was as if they had never been.

The man speaking to her… she should know his name. _Booth _would have known his name. She tried to remember the introductions from any of the many times she was certain they had crossed paths. Peter. Petey. Ricky… Charlie. His name was Charlie. He wasn't someone of whom she had ever taken notice… he fulfilled Booth's orders efficiently and he didn't seem to talk much. Looking at him now for the first time with her full attention, Brennan concluded that he must be a very good man. It was something Booth probably already knew. Something that would have never surprised him the way she was surprised right now. Where would she be without his intuition? How many good people would she unwittingly ignore?

But she couldn't muster thank-yous or apologies now, so Charlie went unacknowledged once again as she compartmentalized. No one could do that as well as her, even if she had momentarily allowed her emotions to get the best of her. The tiny part of her that had learned – with Booth's help – to observe social niceties made a mental promise to do better next time where Charlie was concerned.

She took a step back from Booth and allowed the paramedics to work without interrupting, but she monitored their actions ever so carefully. In the ambulance she settled herself in an innocuous corner that maximized her view while minimizing her impact on their work. The natural anthropologist.

* * *

Angela rushed into the room while Cam drilled the doctors, and she found Brennan standing rigidly at the foot of Booth's bed, intently pouring over his chart.

"How's he doing?" she asked softly.

Brennan didn't look up. "His vital signs are stable."

Angela reached Brennan's side and hugged her tightly, refusing to let go even as her friend stiffened. "You should have called earlier," she scolded gently. "No one should have to sit in a waiting room alone."

"Why would I have been in the waiting room?" Brennan questioned impatiently, pushing herself free of Angela's embrace.

Angela looked bewildered for a beat, and then a resigned understanding set in. "You were in the room with him when they operated."

"Of course I was. I watched very carefully; it was difficult to trust in the competency of the surgeon after he was so condescending following my request to stay in the operating room. Why do people begin speaking to me as if I'm less than intelligent once they notice that I'm pregnant? I believe it's becoming more and more of a problem every week."

"Because they don't know you," Angela responded wryly. "They assume you're either going to faint or have an emotional meltdown."

"Yes, well, fortunately, his surgical skills were admittedly satisfactory."

"I'm sure-

"Booth should be awake by now. I _told _them that he's very sensitive to anaesthetics."

"He'll wake up, sweetie. He always does."

Brennan shot her best friend a look that said she found the comment to be inane, and then she went back to studying Booth's chart. Angela sighed, but she left Brennan alone until she noticed her friend pushing persistently at a spot in her lower back.

"Maybe you should sit down, sweetie," Angela suggested with a frown.

"Why?" Brennan asked, once again managing to avoid even a brief glance in Angela's direction.

"Because your back is obviously bothering you. Booth will kill us both if he finds out you haven't been taking care of yourself. Sit down. Kick off your shoes."

"That would be inadvisable; my feet have swelled significantly since I put on these shoes. If I remove them I doubt I could re-attach them easily," Brennan said absently.

"Alright, that's it," Angela pulled a chair to where Brennan stood and pushed her into it, ignoring the surprised stare this earned her as Brennan finally took her eyes off the chart. "Do not move from this seat."

Brennan frowned and opened her mouth to protest, but Angela cut her off. "No. Our daughters are going to grow up together and be best friends and share a dorm in college. I've got it all planned out. I've even bought them cute little complementary outfits already; I won't have you dropping that kid early and sabotaging my plans. Now, put the clipboard down and try to sleep."

At the thought of sleeping, Brennan's eyes widened and she sat forward tensely. "I can't sleep. I need to watch him."

Angela saw the desperation that flashed across Brennan's face before she buried it. She knelt in front of the chair and gave her best friend a reassuring smile. "I'll stay right here and watch him; I promise. You need to sleep, Bren. If I need to leave the room for any reason at all, I will wake you up first."

Brennan relaxed slightly, but she still didn't appear completely convinced. "The _entire _time I'm sleeping? Because last time, Angela…" her voice trailed off with obvious reluctance and she gripped the arms of her chair fiercely.

"The entire time, Bren. Pinkie swear."

The smile on Angela's face was soft but her eyes were sharp and determined, and Brennan lay back in the chair and felt exhaustion overwhelm her as she began to let her guard down.

Angela gave a satisfied nod as she watched Brennan fight to keep her eyelids open and then ultimately lose the battle to stay conscious. She moved a second chair to the bedside and unfolded a light blanket to drape over Brennan.

The forensic anthropologist's eyes fluttered open as Angela fussed over her. "Ange?" She murmured.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. You're a very good friend."

"It's what besties do, babe."

* * *

_I really didn't mean to make this "cliffhanger-ish" in the least; I promise. I want this chapter and next to pretty much flow in your head as one, so after I finish class tomorrow evening I'll review the second half and post it. It might even be earlier than that, considering campus was closed today because of the weather. Maybe tomorrow a **real **blizzard will hit; the one today shouldn't have even counted. I'm going snowboarding._


	8. Chapter 8

Hey there! This was the last semi "problematic" storyline I had planned, so as I think I mentioned a few chapters back, originally I expected it to be the last in this series of mostly open ended chapters. I _have _written some pages of an epilogue that includes the birth, but I figured I would ask about interest before I put any real thought into it, since it probably wouldn't include any real plot or character development; it would just be the kind of mindless fluff that my brain churns out when my attention drifts during lectures and commercial breaks. So, keeping in mind the fact that you'd be in for cuteness and humour and not much else, let me know yay or nay :) .

* * *

_All I can do is love you to pieces;  
give you a shoulder to cry when you need it.  
When the day is long,  
and the night is coming down on you,  
all I can do, all I can do, all I can do…_

_**All I can Do, **__Chantal Kreviazuk_

Booth had never liked hospitals. He supposed it made sense that someone who had spent as much time in them as he had – as a child, as a soldier, as an agent – would hate everything associated with them, but the general feeling had only intensified since his coma. In addition to all the usual things he hated about hospitals, there was now a moment when he woke up in which he simply felt lost. A moment in which he couldn't fathom how much time had passed, or trust the instant relief and love he not only felt, but _saw_ reflected in Bones' face at his bedside. What were they? Partners? Lovers? Husband and wife? There was a moment when he woke up and he feared that all his memories of her in his bed, of him in her bed, of trips to the amusement park with Parker and popsicles on hot days, were a dream he was once again being pulled from. And the moment, as his partner would say, was heart crushing. Every time.

He heard the beeping of the machines, smelled the high concentrations of antiseptic in the air that often made him want to gag worse than the corpses did, and he fought against it. But once he began to regain consciousness there was never any going back. With resignation, Booth stopped trying to delay the inevitable and warily opened his eyes.

His gaze flitted about the room, automatically cataloguing the windows that opened versus the windows that didn't, the position of the bed in relation to the room's entrance, the absence of a pudding cup (this last thing was catalogued with a small amount of indignation, because what was a hospital stay without the minor payoff of the pudding cups?) and he finally took in her; his Bones. Contorting herself in a hard, wood chair in a way that couldn't be at all comfortable.

And for the first time in a long time, there was no moment. Because the detail he noticed after her bloodstained clothing was the swell of her stomach beneath her blazer. Then he took in her legs; her long limbs dangled over the arm of the chair because there was no longer room for her to tuck them against her chest in her usual fashion as she slept sideways in the seat. He didn't need to cautiously wait for her to make the first move before exhaling in relief. She was his, and he revelled in this new opportunity to be confident in that.

He frowned as he watched her sleep; she was too tall to be comfortable folded up in a chair like that when she _wasn't_ pregnant, and from her clothes he was guessing she hadn't moved since he got here. Whenever that had been. She had pulled the chair right against the edge of the bed, so he didn't need to reach far in order to graze his fingertips over the knee nearest him.

Brennan jerked awake immediately. She took in his tired smile and felt the warmth of his touch, and she swallowed the painful lump in her throat. "Hi, Booth."

"Hey Bones," he answered back. His voice was hoarse from lack of use and medication, but he asked the same question he always felt compelled to start with. "How long?"

She knew what he meant. She'd waited enough times at his bedside since _that _time to know the routine. "Approximately twenty two hours. Cam, Hodgins, Angela and Sweets stayed in shifts, but I told them all to go home three hours ago when your doctor informed me that you would be waking up soon. It wasn't my intention to fall asleep."

Booth waved the end comment off. "I'm sure you needed it. You should have gone home too; what the hell were you thinking falling asleep in that chair? You're going to be sore everywhere, Bones. And you're telling me the whole squint squad was here and not a one of them thought to bring you some clean clothes? Why do you still smell like gasoline?"

A flash of guilt crossed Brennan's face and she drew her bottom lip between her teeth before casting a furtive glance toward the bathroom. Booth followed her eyes and saw the gym bag resting on the cold floor. He quirked an eyebrow and she immediately flushed.

"For safety reasons, I rinsed my hair quickly in the sink outside the operating room, but the scent is lingering. It's highly irrational, but I found that I was unwilling to let you out of my sight for even the time it would have taken to shower and change. Angela brought me my clothes but I couldn't…" her voice trailed off and she looked at him with bright blue eyes that shone with vulnerability.

Instead of pushing her, Booth began to shift on the cot and test his muscle strength. Brennan immediately jumped from the chair and pushed lightly on his shoulders in an attempt to restrain him.

"What are you doing? Stop. _Stop_," she said insistently when he continued to squirm. "I swear, Booth, your eleven year old son has more sense than you do. Lie still!"

"I'm making room, Bones. Come on up here."

Brennan eyed him dubiously, and Booth took advantage of her indecision and shuffled the last few inches to the far edge of the hospital bed without her interference. He shot her the most charming smile he could muster, but her eyes only narrowed and she crossed her arms over her chest.

"The doctors would strongly disapprove of that, Booth. There's not even enough room for just _you _to be entirely comfortable."

"Consider it an exercise in expanding your frontal lobe," Booth grinned. "It's been a while since you've done anything bad."

"I suppose that's true. Although your markedly juvenile attempt to manipulate me into the bed with you isn't going to work."

Booth's grin widened as he glanced pointedly at her expanded mid-section. "I dunno, Bones, it looks to me like I've been plenty successful getting you into bed with me."

Brennan rolled her eyes. "That wasn't what I meant, and I strongly suspect you know that."

Booth let out a laboured laugh, and Brennan's throat tightened. She needed to find a doctor. Or check his chart again. Or call the rest of the team and let them know he was awake. Anything besides stand here next to Booth's bed, watching his tired smile and the careful movements of his limbs. Anything to distract her from the overwhelming desire to throw herself on top of him in order to feel his warmth and vitality against her body. Every emotion she had buried at the crime scene was building pressure at a dangerous rate inside of her, and her total ignorance of what would happen when it finally breached the surface was terrifying.

Booth was fine. He was _fine_. He was conscious and coherent, he was grinning like a fool and gleefully planning small acts of rebellion… he was _Booth_. This delayed emotional turmoil was superfluous.

"Bones."

Booth's voice broke through to her, and his expression and tone were suddenly serious.

"I'm glad it was me," he said fiercely. "_I'm glad._ The way he had his hand on that gun when he was pointing it at you, I knew that if I shot him, there was a good chance he'd seize up and squeeze the trigger as he went down. And I froze, because shooting is the thing I _always _get right, and doing it would have meant… it would have meant… I'm _glad_," he repeated.

"It isn't fair, Booth." Her eyes flashed anger, but her voice was controlled. "It isn't fair that you get to potentially die content because you abided by your stupid code of honour while I'm left here alone. I keep telling you that I _don't _want you dying for me."

"Bones, you followed a suspect into an unsecured backyard without backup, without a gun, without a plan or even a sharp stick, because you thought I might be in danger. I'm not too gung-ho about the idea of you dying for me either."

"What do we do then, Booth?" Brennan asked defeatedly. "Nothing ever changes. _We _never change. We reach this impasse cyclically and with every instance in which we both live, we increase the probability of one of us dying the next time. I am… uncomfortable… speculating on my life without you."

"A day at a time, Bones," Booth stated with conviction. "We don't speculate; you _hate _speculation. We sit here right now together, you and me, and we consider that a win. We consider that a good day. And tomorrow morning, we wake up in our bed and we do the same thing all over again. Every day for as long as we can."

Brennan nodded mutely and Booth tugged persistently on her hand. "Come on, Bones," he coaxed gently. "Indulge me; let me hold onto you for a little bit."

She hesitated. "Booth, you are an extremely well structured alpha-male. _I _am twenty seven weeks pregnant. It would be next to impossible for both of us to comfortably share that bed."

She was less adamant than she had been five minutes ago, and so Booth didn't try asking again. Instead, he continued pulling insistently on her hand until she sighed and briefly frowned at the cot as she took in its dimensions and calculated the most efficient way to place their bodies. Finally, Brennan carefully manoeuvred herself into the narrow gap between Booth and the guardrail.

"If you experience any pain, you must let me know immediately," she warned as her body curled against his.

"I promise," Booth agreed amiably.

"I mean it, Booth. I will leave you here overnight. Alone."

He ignored her bravado and cautiously eased an arm to the small of her back, urging her closer against him so that he could feel her heartbeat. So that he could feel the gentle stirrings of their child through her firm belly.

After a few minutes of silence, he felt her finally relax against him and she released a muffled sigh as she rubbed her face into his shoulder.

"Comfortable?" He enquired.

She nodded reluctantly, unwilling to disclose exactly how revitalizing she found this new position.

"See Bones? We defy science and probability."

He waited for a smartass response, but none was immediately forthcoming. Instead Brennan inched closer and fisted a handful of the gown material near his heart. Booth recognized the motion, and he stroked her hair slowly until she organized her thoughts to the point she was ready to share them with him. He was rewarded for his efforts five minutes later when her voice tentatively called for his attention.

"Booth?"

"Yeah?"

"I lied to you."

Booth chuckled. "You don't lie, Bones."

She squirmed. "Generally speaking this is true; I'm not exceptionally talented at it. Also, I dislike the slightly queasy feeling it puts in my stomach. But I told a lie earlier, and I'm experiencing a strong desire to confess."

He smiled and kissed the top of her head. "In that case, I forgive you."

"Don't you want to know what I did?"

"Only if you want to tell me; I'm okay with it if you'd rather not. Either way, Bones, I forgive you."

"You can't possibly grant me forgiveness without knowing what I did."

This time it was Booth's turn to meet the challenge with silence. But it wasn't long before Brennan mulled over her options and disrupted the quiet once more.

"Booth?"

"Yes?"

"I would like to share. It would make me feel better."

"Okay."

"Earlier, I agreed with you when you stated that it had been a long time since I had done anything bad. That was a lie. It may not have been an explicit lie, but I believe it still counts."

Booth was prevented from musing too deeply on that vague Brennanism by a sharp rapping on the open door. He immediately released his grip on Brennan; it was far from inappropriate, but nevertheless it felt overly intimate under the gaze of a co-worker. Brennan shifted casually to better see the newcomer, and upon recognizing him, she flushed lightly before offering a genuine, if slightly stiff, greeting.

"Hello Charlie."

Charlie and Booth both stopped short, but the agent recovered quickly from his blatant surprise and returned the greeting as if he heard one from her daily. "Hi, Dr. Brennan. Booth."

Booth nodded, and then his gaze shifted suspiciously between Brennan and Charlie. Maybe it was the medication – his head _did _feel admittedly thick – but there was tension between them. And while tension between Brennan and others was hardly out of the ordinary, before this moment he wouldn't have thought she even knew who Charlie was.

Finally, Charlie cleared his throat and stepped fully into the room. "Nice to see you awake."

Booth grinned his thanks and then his expression grew serious. "The body from the house? You found it?"

Charlie nodded affirmatively. "He left her right there in the backyard under barely half a foot of gardening soil."

"Idiot," Brennan muttered under her breath.

"It was your vic's sister. According to her roommate, she left her apartment not long after you did, Booth. She decided to confront him. Obviously it didn't work out well."

Booth sighed. "I knew she was holding something back when I talked to her. I just couldn't quite get it."

Charlie cleared his throat again. "I'm sorry, Booth."

Booth assumed the confliction flitting across Charlie's features had something to do with the shooting. Not that he remembered much of what had happened after the initial gunshots. He tried to shrug it off. "It's nothing. I'll be kicking your ass in the ring again this time next week."

Again, Charlie looked surprised. "No, that wasn't what I was apologizing for… I mean I'm glad you're okay, obviously, but…" his voice trailed off and he wordlessly removed a set of handcuffs from his belt.

The pieces fell rapidly into place for Booth at that point.

"No," he muttered, turning his head to face Brennan. Her childlike avoidance of eye contact confirmed everything. Incredulously, his eyes flew back to Charlie. "You've got to be kidding," he started in shock, "Charlie, she's _pregnant_, how much damage could she have possibly done?"

Brennan immediately bristled and gave Booth an accusatory glare. "I resent your implication that I'm incapable of inflicting harm. My skills are far from negligible."

"I'd have to agree with her, Booth," Charlie input dryly. "I'm willing to bet Hunter and O'Neil would agree with her too."

"You're not arresting her," Booth said gravely. "_She's pregnant._"

"Booth, she broke three of O'Neil's fingers and dislocated Hunter's shoulder. I don't have a choice. I've been putting it off until you woke up, but Cullen will have my ass. I'll take good care of her."

Brennan began to protest any need of a babysitter, but a sharp look from Booth caused her to settle for a disgruntled sigh instead.

Booth rubbed a hand wearily over his face. "I can't believe this. Assaults on _two _Federal Agents? Really, Bones? How many times do I have to tell you that you can't go around beating up people just because they've pissed you off before you start listening?"

"I admit it was impulsive and quite foolish, but it wasn't on purpose! It was like, like…" she paused, and then her eyes lit up and she snapped her fingers triumphantly. "… like Batman!"

"You're losin' it, Bones," Booth deadpanned.

"Remember when we watched that film in which Batman became excessively violent after being made aware that the Jester had abducted his alpha-female? You should remember; you repeatedly quoted lines from that scene for days afterward."

"Joker, Bones. Not Jester. And neither Hunter or O'Neil were the ones that shot me."

He corrected her even as he scolded himself for giving her opportunity to pull him further into this convoluted allusion.

"They touched me," she said defensively. "And they were going to touch you. Maybe if the FBI hadn't lied to me the first time you were shot after we became partners, I wouldn't have such adverse reactions to their arrival during crisis situations."

Booth's face softened. "Charlie, give us a minute."

The agent rolled his eyes, but backed dutifully toward the door. "Sure, Booth. It's not like I'm risking my job or anything."

With Charlie standing in the hallway a respectful distance from the door, Booth turned to face Brennan and ran his thumb lightly over her jaw. "Bones, we've been over this. I would never do something like that again without letting you know beforehand. Without discussing it with you. Especially now."

"I know, Booth. I acted irrationally. Through no will of my own," she added quickly. "I believe that you would never hurt me on purpose. It wasn't entirely my fault; it was biology."

"That's great, Bones," Booth scoffed. "You can think about that tonight while you're sitting in jail."

Brennan pressed a soft kiss to his lips and began climbing out of the bed as carefully as she had climbed into it. "I'll be fine," she assured. "I'll call Angela to bail me out. See you tomorrow, Booth."

Never one for lingering goodbyes, Brennan picked up the long-abandoned overnight bag and slung it over her shoulder as she headed toward the door.

"Hey."

She turned back expectantly, and Booth beckoned her near with a crook of his index finger. Compliantly, she travelled the few steps back to his bedside.

"Be careful, okay? I don't want you getting into any more fights."

She nodded.

"And get Charlie to show you the gym showers. They aren't much, but you should get out of those clothes and wash that crap out of your hair. It's a wonder it hasn't burned a hole clean through you already."

Brennan gently kissed his cheek and readjusted the shoulder strap to a comfortable position as she stood.

"I'm glad that you love me, Booth," she said softly. Off the surprised lift of Booth's eyebrows, she grew nervous and twisted her fingers together before tucking them in her pockets. "You're offering unsolicited advice," she reminded him.

"Ah," Booth nodded. And then his face flooded with sincerity once again. "I _do _love you, Bones."

She gave him a lopsided smile, "I know."

Then she turned on her heel and walked purposefully to the hallway. "I'm ready to go."

Charlie nodded and politely motioned her in front of him.

"Wait," she resisted, "aren't you going to handcuff me?"

He sighed. "I don't think Booth would be pleased with me handcuffing you."

"But you already took them out; indicating that you planned to use them."

Charlie pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and prayed for the patience to refrain from dropping her at the side of the road somewhere between the hospital and the Hoover building. Then he decided to try the brisk, _Booth_ approach to ending this line of questioning. He could only hope she didn't respond by kicking him.

"Do you _want _me to put you in handcuffs?"

"No." Brennan immediately answered.

"There you go then. Now, if it's okay with you, I'd like to get back sometime before Christmas."

Brennan frowned, but only a moment passed before the puzzled furrow between her brows vanished. "Oh. Sarcasm. I see. Okay." She nodded to herself and then, finally, began to move forward. "Bye Booth!" she said loud enough to be heard through the open doorway.

"Bye Bones," he called back. "You better watch her, Charlie!"

Charlie shook his head. He was pretty confident Dr. Brennan was usually the one people needed protecting _from_, not the one requiring protection, but he definitely had the sense to keep thoughts like that to himself.

* * *

There was something to be said for black ink pens and note paper. It was undeniably faster to use computers, and since Temperance Brennan was quite attached to her laptop, she had forgotten how satisfactory it was to watch the black loops and crosses fluidly imprinting blue-lined pages under the precise motions of her hand. She had stacks of expensive stationary sitting in both her offices at home and at the Jeffersonian, but rarely did opportunity arise to put them to good use outside lists and memos.

She couldn't help but smile as she flipped over yet another filled sheet to expose a new, crisp, perfectly unsullied page. Her pen hovered above the paper for just a second as she savoured the moment, and then she firmly pushed the tip against the notepad and continued.

Charlie had been unwilling to provide her with a computer, but he had provided her with several notepads and writing utensils, as well as some battery powered lamps to add additional lighting to what the standard fluorescents offered.

Angela hadn't answered her phone, and despite Charlie's willingness to allow her to try someone else, Brennan had chosen to leave a message. Although she was (mostly) sure Cam would come if she called, if she couldn't have Booth, and she couldn't have Angela, for the time being she preferred to just wait. Besides, it was easier to work on her novel without Booth hovering.

Halfway through yet another page, Brennan put down the pen and flexed the slightly cramped muscles in her right hand. Then she reached up to tug the elastic out of her hair and shook her head to release the tension the tight ponytail had caused on her scalp.

"I _love _watching you do that."

A familiar low voice penetrated the silence of the empty wing, and Brennan couldn't help but jump slightly in surprise. She quickly got to her feet and met him at the bars.

"Booth! What are you doing here?"

The words were abrasive, but she was grinning from ear to ear, and Booth couldn't have helped smiling in return if he wanted to. Which he didn't.

"Well, I figured I don't like hospitals and you don't like jail, so I'd do us both a favour and get us home. Although you're looking pretty cozy in here, I gotta say. Is that Perrier?"

Brennan glanced at the green glass bottle behind her and shrugged. "Yes. Charlie brought it for me along with dinner from the vegetarian café around the corner before he left for the night. I tried to pay him for it, but he wouldn't take my money."

"Of course he wouldn't, Bones. He's a good guy. You ready to go?"

"Yes," she answered enthusiastically. Then she remembered Angela and hesitated. "We'll have to phone Angela. I already left a message on her voicemail instructing her to come pick me up."

"Yeah, about that; Bones, when you're leaving messages, while keeping it short is usually appreciated, in situations like this it's best to leave more details than, 'The FBI arrested me at the hospital and I'm in jail; please come get me after you receive this message.' People worry about you, okay? And Angela gets mean when she's concerned."

"She called you," Brennan surmised.

Booth slid the cell door open and walked stiffly inside to help her gather her things. Brennan felt that increasingly familiar, unwelcome twinge in her stomach as she was reminded of his injury, but before she could think too long on it Booth was talking again and she tried to force herself to pay attention.

"Did she ever." He cleared his throat dramatically. "'_You let them drag her to __**prison**__? What is __**wrong**__ with you? Congratulations on not being dead and all, I'm really, __**really **__glad, but if you don't fix this, __**I'm **__going to shoot you. And I'll pick someplace down south that will be a hell of a lot more painful. You got me, G-man?'_"

Booth repeated his rather one-sided conversation with Angela in a mocking, falsetto tone, and Brennan laughed so hard she had to sit down.

"I think it's slightly disturbing that you can imitate her so well, Booth." She giggled breathlessly as she pushed against her sore ribs.

His grin widened, "You think that's good, you should see me do Cam."

He winked at her, and Brennan felt a quick fluttering deep in her belly that she knew had nothing to do with the baby. Yesterday morning he had been shot, six hours ago he had _finally _come out from the effects of the anaesthetic, and now he was vibrant and whole and making her laugh in a way no one else could. Yesterday she hadn't been able to think or feel Angela's touch on her skin; and while she could recognize that she had probably been in a mild form of shock, now it seemed so far away from her, so much _less_, that she couldn't quite remember that terror. And it was because of him. Because somehow, he could make her forget without even trying. He made her feel better. And maybe, if she made _him _feel better too, then that was okay.

The sudden onslaught of affection surged through her, and the warmth of it all was too much. When he offered her his hand to pull her up from the bed it was the final straw; he was far too weak to pull her weight anywhere, but she was certain he hadn't even thought of that before making the gesture. He had just done it with little thought to his own well being, as always. No one had his kindness.

She stood up under her own power and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him as tightly as she dared. Even if he forgot his wounds, she never would. Taking care of him was the least she could do given the gifts he unknowingly gave her every day.

He stroked her hair and pressed a kiss to her temple. When she pulled away and beamed at him, he couldn't help but grin in return. "What was that for, smiley?"

"Because you make me happy. Because I love you."

For a moment the words simply hung between them, and Booth almost laughed at the surprise frozen on Brennan's face. Her features relaxed and she tilted her head thoughtfully as she analysed her own unexpected outburst.

"I love you." She repeated softly.

Booth's goofy grin mellowed into a warm smile. "You've come a long way, Dr. Bones-Brennan."

His easy acceptance of her declaration made her love him just a little more, if that was possible. Now that she had said it aloud, now that it was more than just a persistent thought she couldn't quite banish, it didn't seem nearly as frightening as it always had. After all, it had been hard to admit she might love her father when he had first returned, and now she could do that with relative ease. But Booth wasn't her father; Booth was Booth, and she … loved him.

"Come on; let's get outta here."

Booth took her hand, and she contently squeezed his fingers. "When is my hearing?"

Booth laughed heartily and then winced when he felt his stitches pull. "Are you kidding? Cullen just couldn't handle the thought of you thinking your actions wouldn't have some kind of consequence. The man's a hardass. It's too bad; I was pretty sure he was warming up to you for a while there. Anyway, by morning the charges will be dropped; no way two trained agents are going to stand up in court and tell the world they got their asses kicked by a girl. By a _pregnant _girl."

"I'm not a girl."

"Of course not, baby." He released her hand and put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. "You're all woman."

Brennan pushed him lightly away from her, mindful of his wound. "You say things like that deliberately to annoy me."

"Prove it."

* * *

The next morning when Booth woke up, he barely had time to groan against the immediate protest put forth by his upper body before the bed dipped and Brennan's hands were once again restraining him.

He turned his head to the right and saw her bright eyes staring down on him with concern, and despite the pain radiating throughout his right side, Booth managed a smile. "Morning, Bones."

"Good morning."

Her voice was glaringly alert when pitted against his thick, sleep-filled tenor, and Booth had to wonder exactly how long she had been awake, simply sitting beside him. Before he could question her on the matter, she carefully straddled his legs and began to pull up his white vest.

"Wow. You're just jumping right into things, eh there Bones?"

"I'm checking the condition of your bandage," Brennan smirked. "With you being incapacitated and me being the size that I am, sex in this position would be quite impossible. Sex in _any _position is going to be out of the question until your wound has had sufficient time to heal."

As soon as the bandage came into sight the smile fell from her face and she entered her clinical mode. Booth sat patiently as she cleaned the inflamed area and replaced the bandage with fresh cloths. When she had taped everything back into place, she returned the supplies to the nightstand drawer and removed a prescription bottle.

"Here." She shook out two tablets. "I'll get you some water. I would have prepared a glass earlier, but I know how you feel about drinking tepid water."

"Bones," he protested, "I don't want these. And I don't want you running around for me. You should be resting."

"We're _fine_, Booth. I'll be right back."

She slipped off the mattress and silenced his impending protest with a look. As his eyes followed her out the door he noticed the time on the clock reading nearly ten; frowning, he worked up a light sweat gathering himself into a sitting position and waited for his partner's return.

Brennan nearly dropped the glass of water when she came back and saw him sitting against the headboard.

"You should have waited for me, Booth!" she admonished.

He waved her off. "Are you going in at noon today? You didn't have to do that Bones, I'd've been alright."

"I'm not going to work today," she said casually as she handed him the glass.

"Oh ho! You called in sick? That's awesome! If I'd have known all I had to do to get you to play hooky with me was get shot, I would've played this card sooner."

She gave him a pained glare that told him she didn't find any scenario involving him getting shot even remotely amusing. "Swallow the analgesics. And I didn't 'call in sick,' I simply informed Cam that I had no intentions of coming to work today."

Booth snorted. "Man, how great must it be knowing that you're irreplaceable? Seriously, Bones, I don't want these. You know what I'm like on painkillers."

"Yes; you become very childlike. You're also more attention deficit than usual. I have considerable experience handling you in those situations, and in any event, you do not currently have the mobility to make a real nuisance of yourself. Take the medication."

"Well, when you put it like that…" Booth gave her a wry smile.

Brennan carefully watched him swallow the drugs and she rolled her eyes when he teasingly opened wide to show her his empty mouth, but she visibly relaxed after that small victory.

"I have something to show you."

The excitement in her tone piqued his curiosity and he watched with amusement as she grabbed her laptop off a nearby chair and jiggled her leg impatiently while waiting for the machine to wake up from its sleep mode. When the desired screen appeared before her, her eyes lit up and she angled it eagerly toward him.

"What do you think? We'll have to see it in person, of course, once you're feeling better. But the virtual tour is very informative. There are three bedrooms, three and a half bathrooms, one office and two dens… one of the dens can be converted into an additional office easily enough so that we can each have our own. We are very effective partners but we absolutely cannot share a work space. I find your disorganization distracting."

She was clicking through photos faster than he could register them, and Booth's head spun as he tried to connect the words coming out of her mouth to the images flashing before him onscreen. Maybe next time he should only take one of the painkillers. Maybe even a half. Because these babies worked fast.

It took him a moment to realize Brennan had stopped talking and was now staring at him expectantly. As he struggled to catch up with her, her smile slipped slightly and she turned the screen back to face her.

"If you don't like it, there are others to choose from," she explained quickly, "I've compiled a list. Most of them are luxury condos – similar to the one I just showed you – because I thought it would be preferential to remain in the city, but I found a few houses that would suit our needs and are also quite pretty. I would be willing to commute if you would rather a house."

"When… when did you do all of this?" Booth finally asked.

"While you were sleeping," Brennan returned simply. She frowned as a new possible explanation for his silence occurred to her, and she tilted her head toward him. "Are you upset? Should I have waited for you? I wasn't trying to be controlling; I know it's very important that we agree on this. As I said, I've compiled a list and we can visit each property once you've recovered. In the interest of fairness, you can make a list as well," she offered diplomatically.

"Bones," he laughed. "Baby, I- I don't want to make a list."

Her frown deepened. "Well we can't stay here, Booth. There isn't enough room for four people."

"No, I mean that I'm sure your list is great. Everything you showed me looks great." He paused; maybe he shouldn't ask. After all, the whole thing about gift horses was an expression for a reason, right? There was truth to it. But no; she was waiting for him to finish his thought, and those drugs were starting to take effect. He was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to smooth talk his way anywhere right now. Not even with her. "I just thought you were pretty dead set on that three month trial period. We're still a week shy of two months."

"Oh," she flushed lightly. "Well, I now believe the experiment to be purposeless and a waste of time. I feel it should be abandoned."

Booth raised an eyebrow. "Next time, Bones, you lead with that part."

Brennan released a shy laugh. "I apologize."

He reached out to angle her computer screen toward him once more and studied the new page. "What changed your mind?"

"I like living with you," she confessed. Her eyes dropped from his and she picked absently at the stitching of their bed sheets. "I find it comforting that we can share a space even though you are completely incapable of washing my clothes without damaging them, and I never leave you enough hot water when I shower first in the morning. While I was watching you sleep, I came to the conclusion that there are plenty of outside influences that could potentially stop us from waking up next to one another. I would prefer to live together while the opportunity is within my means to control, and then re-evaluate the situation in the future if it one day becomes necessary… which I hope it will not," she added quickly in response to the disapproving twist of his mouth.

"That was pretty sweet of you, Bones. Aside from that last 're-evaluation' part."

"I can be 'sweet' on occasion," she defended.

"Because you love me," Booth grinned.

Brennan rolled her eyes. "Yes. Because I love you."

Booth adjusted the angle of the computer screen. "Show me that first one again."

Brennan's bright smile returned in full and she inched closer to his body. He automatically tried to wrap his arm around her shoulders, but inhaled sharply when he couldn't get more than halfway before his tender muscles screamed that it wasn't going to happen. Brennan pursed her lips and Booth cringed in anticipation of a lecture, but in the end, she simply slung her own arm around him instead, and she placed the laptop on his legs to afford him a better view as well as allow her to shift even closer. Her fingers played with the ends of his hair while his left hand reached over to draw slow circles over her stomach, and she brought the photos of the first condo back to the screen with a few deft clicks of her free hand.

"The T.V. from my place can go in the other den, and we can get a larger television for the living room if you want. I only ask that you don't insist on putting one in our bedroom. The building has a pool similar to mine; I thought that would be important to Parker. Oh! You'll like this part, Booth; I know you will…"

Her voice continued on animatedly, picking up speed as she remembered all the little details that had initially caught her eye. Whether it was the painkillers or his sheer adoration of her – or possibly a combination of both – Booth didn't know, but the lilt of her voice was fading quickly into the background and he couldn't quite concentrate on anything besides the rapid movement of her eyes and the lopsided tilt of her smile.

He nodded dumbly along with her, and eventually Brennan stopped talking again.

"You're not listening," she chided softly.

"You're glow-y when you smile." He stumbled slightly over the words.

Brennan chuckled and licked her lips self consciously. "That's the Vicodin, Booth. Your pupils are dilated."

"Nah, Bones, it's you." He smiled. "It's always you."

The tender moment was broken when the baby kicked against Booth's hand and caused him to laugh hysterically (giggle, really, even though she was sure he'd deny it once the drugs wore off). Brennan gave an amused shake of her head and then continued showing him pictures of the kitchen, gamely agreeing with him when he told her that the countertops seemed nice, but the cupboards were way too full of themselves.

* * *

_Thank you so much for your interest. This was a fun piece to write and I enjoyed reading/responding to your feedback. Probably a little too much, haha. I am very easily excited._


	9. Epilogue

And here, the journey ends :) . I had zero intentions of saying _anything _before the chapter this time (I'm serious! Really!), but as I was editing something occurred to me, and I just want to throw a pre-emptive explanation out there: standard maternity leave here is a year, and I briefly referenced that year long time span without considering that things are probably (almost certainly) different in each state. I'm sure a few simple Google searches could have given me some solid answers, but honestly, that felt like a lot of work I didn't actually feel at all like doing. So I didn't. If a year of maternity leave sounds too long/too short to you, blame the province of Ontario. Also, Arastoo and his fake accent were back in action on NCIS:LA yesterday, haha. It was pretty entertaining. Totally better than Heather Taffet being a cop on Criminal Minds the other day... that was just way too big a distraction.

* * *

_You can't resist her.  
She's in your bones.  
She is your marrow,  
and your ride home._

_You can't avoid her,  
She's in the air.  
In between molecules of Oxygen and Carbon Dioxide_

_**Only In Dreams, **__Weezer_

**March 23****rd****, 5:37pm**

He knew better than to interrupt her while she was writing. Usually. But today he couldn't help himself. Brennan had started her maternity leave eight days ago, and a new case had come in before she had even made it out the door. The squints were handling things well, and Booth was fairly certain Hodgins was one all-nighter away from busting things wide open on the forensics end, but it was off-putting spending so much time in the lab without seeing her. On more than one occasion he had managed to get all the way into her office before the still darkness reminded him that it would be almost a year before he found her there on a regular basis again. The trips he was accustomed to making to the Jeffersonian (many of them admittedly less than necessary) added up; it was somewhat depressing going to work for full days at a time without seeing her.

Earlier that day, he had tackled an interview with a smartass chemist who had been one of _those _types of squint. As the guy had talked to him as if he was a slow child Booth had longed for his own smartass scientist; just _one _of his partner's signature, ball-busting corrections would have wiped the shit-eating grin off the prick's face. With her currently consuming his every thought throughout each quiet moment of the day (a previously familiar, utterly distracting feeling that he really didn't miss) the second he stepped through the front door, Booth beelined for her office without even taking the time to loosen his tie or remove his jacket.

He found Brennan sitting at her desk frowning at her laptop screen as if she suspected the machine was being deliberately defiant. Her hair was tied back in a messy ponytail and she was wearing an old stretched out pullover of his, and as her fingers flew furiously across the keyboard the large sleeves kept slipping down her forearms until she distractedly pushed them back. She paused for a moment to stretch, and as her arms rose above her head the sweater was pulled skin tight over her abdomen. He smiled to himself; he tried to keep overt, chauvinistic (her word, not his) indications of just how much he loved seeing her pregnant to a minimum, but sometimes he couldn't help it. Sometimes, she took his breath away. Sometimes, he watched her move around the new condo that wasn't hers or his but _theirs_, and he couldn't quite grasp that this was reality.

"Hey Bones," Booth greeted, walking behind her and kissing the back of her neck.

The greeting went unacknowledged and Brennan's fingers continued their dance across the keys. Booth rolled his eyes and pressed his lips against her skin once more, laying a distracting line of kisses along the top of her shoulders.

"Oh, hey Booth," he murmured against her skin, flicking his tongue out to taste her. "How was your day? It was good; thanks for asking, Bones. The squints are doing their thing and I didn't even have to threaten to shoot anyone. How did your day go? It was fine; I didn't work too hard on my novel and I got plenty of rest. I missed you. I missed you too."

There were a few more seconds of silence punctuated by the clicking of the keyboard keys.

"Hi." Brennan's voice was clear, but blatantly unfocused.

"Really? That's all I'm going to get out of you? _Hi_?"

"Booth, you know I don't like to be interrupted while I'm writing," Brennan responded without looking up from her screen. "Could you come back in an hour?... Please?" she tacked on politely.

He nuzzled the spot on her jaw line that never failed to elicit a reaction from her. "I missed you today."

Finally, she paused. "What are you doing?"

"Trying really hard to get laid," Booth answered uncouthly. "I gotta tell ya Bones, you're making it kind of difficult."

"Booth, stop," she squirmed. When his hands began to work their way under her sweater, she forcibly pushed away his face. "I'm serious. I am not interested in engaging in sexual intercourse with you at this time."

"Why?" he whined. "You love sex. You have a reputation to uphold."

"Because," Brennan spun around in the computer chair to face him and glared, "I weighed myself this morning and I'm experiencing a temporary lapse in my self confidence. While I'm certain that rational thought will override my apparent body image issues before the day ends, I would prefer – for now – not to be naked. Also, I'm very busy; I'm almost finished the first draft of my novel."

"You're beautiful," Booth said, suddenly serious. Brennan rolled her eyes and began to spin back toward her computer, but Booth placed his hands on the armrests of her chair and held it firmly in place. "You are. I love your body. I've been thinking about you nonstop all day."

Her mouth twisted upward in the way that told him that while she didn't quite understand his manner of thinking, she would accept it nonetheless. He took the opportunity to lean forward and kiss her mouth properly. She responded to the gentle kiss, but all too soon she pushed against his chest until he reluctantly pulled away.

"We're still not having sex," Brennan stated. But she was smiling now and Booth grinned at her in return.

"That's fine, baby. But you should know, I'm going to remember this the next time I work a sixteen hour day and come home to you rearing to go when all I want to do is sleep."

Brennan's smile grew, but she refrained from comment and turned back to her screen the moment Booth released his grip on her chair.

"You really almost finished?" Booth questioned, finally giving her some space and walking around to the opposite side of her desk. "You must have banged out a hundred pages in the last week."

"A hundred and seven," she corrected absently. "I don't have any work at the lab and I've developed a sort of gestational insomnia; I have a lot of free time."

"Are you sure you don't want to reward yourself with a little break?" Booth asked with a wink. "Maybe you'll get some new ideas for Andy."

Brennan tilted her head to peer up at him through lids narrowed in puzzled thought. "In the past, you've become quite offended when I think about work during sex."

Booth heaved a good-natured sigh. "Well yeah, Bones. When things are getting hot and heavy and you suddenly bolt upright and run out of the room stark naked yelling something about damaged metacarpals and bone density, I get a little upset."

"_Once_, Booth! That happened once, and I solved the case!" Brennan responded indignantly.

"You left me handcuffed to your bed, Bones. Not cool."

She emitted a short, borderline-sadistic laugh at the memory. "So there are degrees of acceptability when it comes to thinking about work during intercourse?"

"Definitely."

"I will remember that in the future," Brennan smiled. Then she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and watched his face hesitantly. "But, I really would like to finish writing this draft, Booth."

She could go from sexy to childlike in the blink of an eye. Booth immediately smiled to put her at ease and reassure her that she hadn't made a rude or offensive request that was going to hurt him. "Alright Bones I can take a hint. I'm going to get dinner started and watch the game I recorded the other day."

"Oh, I deleted that."

Booth halted abruptly halfway to the door. "What?"

Brennan shrugged. "It's been there for over a week, Booth. I was bored yesterday and I deleted all the old programs. I also deleted the movies that I know you've seen, such as Reservoir Dogs, Star Wars, and a number of James Bond films."

Booth groaned and pulled his tie from around his neck. "Please tell me you're kidding."

Her face lit up and she smiled wildly. For a moment he just stared in shock, and then Booth chuckled. "A joke. A cruel one at that. Nice work, Bones."

"Angela assures me that lying is okay when it's in the interest of hilarity," Brennan informed him proudly.

"I guess I should expect that from Angela by now. Call me if you need anything."

Brennan watched him retreat from her office, and as he disappeared around the corner the sudden emptiness of the room seemed far more pronounced than it had five minutes before. Perhaps it was possible that she _had _missed him (just a little bit) since he had left early that morning.

"Booth?"

The sound of his feet in the hall changed direction, and soon he stuck his head back through her open door. "Yeah?"

"I could bring my work out there with you. If you want," she proposed almost shyly.

Booth beamed. "That'd be great, Bones. Let's get you relocated."

* * *

**6:24pm**

She wasn't comfortable. He knew her well enough to know that she wasn't prone to squirming while she worked. She could lock herself into the same position for six hours at a time when she was focused on any given task, and it was a habit even pregnancy hadn't been able to change, despite the frequent, numerous discomforts it caused her. He had already asked her three times if she wanted to sit with him on the couch instead of in the wicker chair at the high table behind him, but each time she refused and resumed typing. And each time less than ten minutes passed before he could hear her chair shifting once more.

Going against his sense of self preservation, Booth twisted around in his seat. "You sure you're feeling okay, Bones? There's plenty of space over here."

Brennan heaved a laboured sigh. "I'm sure, Booth. Stop asking."

The key tapping began anew; Booth shrugged and returned his attention to the television set.

Just when he was almost convinced that he was merely being over analytical (yes, he recognized the backward-ness of it all) the rapid-fire typing ceased abruptly. However, instead of the restless shifting he predicted, Brennan remained quieter than she had managed in all the time since he had come home. Booth turned his head just in time to catch her scramble out of the chair to her feet.

"What are you doing?"

She froze and then turned slowly to meet his eye, and Booth caught a glimpse of something that looked a lot like guilt before she fixed a more neutral expression to her face.

"I need to urinate." He raised his eyebrows and Brennan began to stutter slightly. "I drank more tea than I should have earlier."

There was a minor battle of wills between them as each tried to stare down the other, but when Brennan pursed her lips, indicating to Booth that tiny bladder or no tiny bladder she was willing to stand in that spot all day, he shrugged and sat back in his seat. When he heard her footsteps resume and was confident she no longer faced him, Booth turned to watch her make her way down the hall and frowned as he catalogued her awkward gait. While he knew it would be suicide to call attention to it, the stride he was witnessing seemed more pronounced than what had become her new normal once her centre of gravity shifted. He shook his head; she was probably fine. He was reading too deeply into nothing. He wouldn't be the idiot to say it to her face, but all traces of her usual walk had disappeared somewhere in month seven.

Resolutely, Booth rewound the goal he had missed and focused on the game. By the time he heard the door open again he had managed to successfully lose himself in an intense power play, and as Brennan's footsteps drew nearer the general inquiry he made was slightly distracted at best.

"Everything okay?"

"Uh huh."

Whatever had been bothering her before had apparently resolved itself, because for the next fifteen minutes her steady typing filled the background in the focused, driven manner to which he was accustomed. Without consciously realizing just how uneasy her stilted work progress had made him, Booth finally relaxed completely. Until the next time she went stock-still. And the next.

* * *

**6:36pm**

Following the second period, Booth let the commercials run and stood up to grab a beer from the kitchen. It wasn't until he was on his way back, beer in hand, that his gaze somewhat absently fell on Brennan. He wasn't sure why she was catching his eye in a different sort of way, but once again he experienced that persistent, niggling sensation that something was up.

"Did you change your clothes?"

"Yes." Brennan answered without breaking speed.

"What brought that on?"

"I was no longer comfortable in what I was wearing."

"Your sweatshirt and yoga pants were uncomfortable?" Booth reiterated confusedly.

Brennan exhaled impatiently and whipped her head around to meet his eyes. Booth took a step back. He didn't have to be good at reading people to know what she was thinking right now. If he interrupted her again he wasn't going to get off with a killer glare.

He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender and left her in peace.

* * *

**6:49pm**

The timer on the oven sounded and Booth headed into the kitchen – more than ready for dinner – while Brennan continued to type at breakneck speed. After he pulled the pan from the oven and switched off all the dials, he stared hesitantly at the back of her head over the half-wall dividing the rooms. Something had certainly lit a creative fire under her, and the part of him that wanted to leave her to her work (since it was obviously of the utmost importance to her right now) warred against the part of him that really just wanted to eat. Asap.

Her body tensed and her hands abruptly left her keyboard and curled into fists at her sides. Booth frowned; he supposed it was a good thing that she had hit her stride, but these intermittent pauses of hers were really throwing him off. He was about to interrupt her when she began typing once again like a woman possessed, and then he settled for rolling his eyes and setting the table.

When there was nothing left for him to do in the kitchen, hunger overrode patience. Booth stood beside Brennan's chair and began to simply close her computer as she typed; subtlety be damned. Odds were, if she had been working like this all day she probably hadn't remembered to eat much anyway. A break was warranted.

"Booth!" she protested. "I'm not done."

"Dinner's ready."

A brief struggle over the position of her laptop screen ensued, with Booth ultimately coming out on top as the lid shut tight against the keys when her hands were just slightly slower than his. He ignored her glare. Hell, he was used to it. Her mouth parted in righteous indignation and Booth quickly pressed his lips against hers before she started yelling at him. Just because he could.

"Booth!"

"What?" he laughed, shifting a hand down her sweater to caress her stomach. "Baby, it can wait. Just-

Brennan shifted uncomfortably, and Booth jerked his hand away from her as if he had been scalded.

"What was that?" he demanded.

"What?"

"No no no, don't play dumb. _That_!" he gestured vaguely, waving a hand in the direction of her abdomen. "What just happened?"

"Nothing! She moved; that's all."

"She- Bones…" He scrutinised her face and when a guilty flush slowly crept over her he again pointed at her triumphantly. "Ha!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Brennan denied quickly. "I'm very busy-

Her breath caught and her fingers reflexively tightened around the edge of her seat before she could help it. She gave herself a mental kick for such a stupid giveaway and she tentatively met Booth's eye, futilely hoping that the overt action had escaped him. Of course, it hadn't.

Booth took a clumsy step backward and tripped over her chair leg. The sight of the graceful agent falling to the floor and quickly bounding back to his feet would have been comical under other circumstances, and as it was, Brennan had to bite back a laugh at the combination of horror and surprise flooding his face despite the pain in her lower muscles that hadn't yet fully subsided.

"You are in labour," he accused. "You've been having contractions. You've been having contractions all day."

"No! No, not all day. Just- alright, perhaps, _perhaps _since this morning, but I didn't know that was what they were, then," her voice suddenly dropped to a low mutter, and he had to strain to hear her next words. "My amniotic sac only ruptured less than an hour ago."

If Brennan had thought he had been on the brink of a meltdown before, it was nothing compared to the way he looked now. Booth's jaw worked noiselessly up and down. "_Are you kidding me?_"

"Booth, childbirth takes hours! This is exactly why I didn't tell you earlier. You are overreacting as usual."

The fork-in-toaster look stayed firmly in place, and again, it took time before he could force speech. "Just how long were you planning on keeping this to yourself?"

"Only until I finished my novel." She blurted the honest answer before she had time to filter herself and then winced. "Oops."

Her blunder snapped Booth out of his daze and his face hardened. "We're leaving. Now."

"But-

"But nothing. Jesus Christ, Bones. You're unbelievable."

"But we still have time! This is my first delivery, Booth. Statistically, it is likely to take a while."

"I may not have a whole bunch of fancy letters following my last name, Bones, but I'm pretty sure "all day" constitutes as a while."

"Wait!" Brennan pleaded desperately. "_Please_? The contractions are still seven minutes apart and I'm almost done! I'm working on the final scene."

Booth frowned. "Bones, you're in pain. You're starting to get kind of sweaty looking. I'll bring your laptop with us, if that's what's going to get you in the car, but we're leaving."

"Half an hour." Brennan attempted to negotiate.

"Oh my _God_. You don't have a choice in this, okay? We're a little past the point of no return here. Let's go!"

"It's not necessary!" she protested, "Her timing is very selfish."

"_Really_?"

"Fifteen minutes, Booth. Give me fifteen minutes."

"Temperance, we don't _have _fifteen minutes!" When she failed to respond, Booth rubbed a hand through his hair. God help him she was impossible. "I will carry you out of here," he threatened.

"I'd like to see you try," Brennan snorted.

"Baby, I'm begging you. Do you hear me? I'm _begging_. You're stressing me out. Let's go; _please_ let's go."

The mounting anxiety in his wild eyes was raw enough to make Brennan hesitate; it was moments like these in which she most regretted the emotional doors Booth had helped her open. She could all but feel his concern and it was very difficult to make self-centred decisions when just looking at him invoked such intense feelings of guilt.

"Fine." Booth exhaled loudly in relief and Brennan hurried to finish her sentence before he whisked her out their front door. "But I _would _like my computer. I wasn't exaggerating when I said I could potentially have quite a few hours to go before delivery."

"Done." Booth snatched up her laptop from the table and helped Brennan off her chair. "Alright; we're out of here."

The authenticity of the situation hadn't hit her following the arrival of the intense back pain or rippling muscle contractions; she had automatically compartmentalized the labour indicators without consciously setting out to do so. But when Booth closed her passenger door it finally jarred Brennan out from behind her shield of rational thought and thrust her into her impending reality. She braced her belly with both hands and let her thoughts run free as Booth tossed her overnight bag on the floor near the rear door and walked around to the driver's side of the SUV. She was in labour. She was having a baby. She was going to be a mother. She hated speculation but it was now proving impossible to keep from imagining the infinite possibilities her future held. She was having a _baby_.

Booth climbed into the vehicle and closed his door, and for a moment, they both sat frozen.

Finally Booth turned his head to stare at her. "Holy shit."

Brennan let out a deep laugh. "My sentiments exactly."

* * *

**8:03pm**

"…ow." She squirmed, frowning as her discomfort increased. "Ow! Ow, Booth! Son of a bitch!"

"I know. I know, honey."

"I've only recently come around to your insistence on utilising condescending monikers like 'babe,' and 'baby'; and even that thin tolerance is far from consistent. If you _ever _call me honey again, I will kick you in the testicles with as much force as I can muster. I swear to God, Booth, I'm not joking."

"Sorry. Try and relax."

"Relax? _You _try and relax while knowing you are only hours away from pushing a human head out of an orifice that's never been stretched to accommodate anything bigger than-

"You're panicking; you can't panic."

"Why not? I believe my panic to be reasonable at this juncture."

"Because… well, because in situations like these I'm the panicker and you're the voice of reason. Those are our roles."

"I propose a trade."

"Nope. No tradesies."

* * *

**9:28pm**

Brennan was wrong, for once. But Booth very graciously – very wisely – decided to refrain from pointing that out this time around. Her small laptop victory wasn't even worth noting because her daughter hadn't wanted to wait all night, and two and a half hours after Booth hussled Brennan out of their building she collapsed against the hospital bed; spent, gasping for breath and pushing sweat drenched locks of hair out of her eyes.

Was it over? It was over, right? Because she was done. She had been shot, stabbed and tasered before and she was pretty sure this topped all of those. From here on in she and Booth were using condoms in addition to her birth control; she'd like to see his super sperm get through _that_. On the other hand, maybe they should just cut out sex altogether. It would serve him right; it was a little convenient that the part of Booth's Catholic schooling he chose to ignore was the part that promoted abstinence… and speaking of Booth, why the _fuck _did _he _get to look so goddamn happy right now? As soon as she could move, she was going to knock him flat on his ass.

As her breathing slowed she heard the soft mewling of a newborn, _her _newborn, and it donned on her muddled brain that it really _was _over at about the same time Booth began to speak.

"Hey beautiful," he began thickly. "We've been waiting for you."

Brennan's exhaustion and discomfort took a backseat and she struggled to sit forward, reaching eagerly toward Booth as the cries grew stronger. Booth gently placed the infant in her waiting arms and Brennan cradled her with natural ease while grinning stupidly. It took a few tries, but she eventually found her voice.

"Hello," she murmured huskily. "I am very happy you are here."

Booth was pressing soft kisses all over her sticky temple and she tore her eyes away from the bundle in her arms to gaze at him with euphoric wonder. "Look what we made."

Booth chuckled. "She's perfect."

It didn't occur to Brennan to argue the impossibility of total perfection, because how could anyone find fault in someone so beautiful? Instead she shook her head because she was _sure _that no one could understand the magnitude of this phenomenon the way that she did. "But we _made _her. She's _ours_. _We _did this Booth; us."

He kissed her again and placed one large pinkie in the grip of his daughter. "With lungs like that, there's no doubt she's ours."

Brennan stared intently at their girl and committed each of her delicate features to memory. The perfect full lips, the fine lashes, the bright blue eyes and dark hair and impossibly tiny fingernails.

Her metaphoric heart was very close to exploding through its metaphoric seams.

"You are so small, and you are already loved by many people." She ran her fingers lightly over the baby's soft skin in amazement. "You are worthy of this love. I promise that I will do my best to ensure you never doubt it."

* * *

**10:06pm**

"Sweetie, she's gorgeous," Angela gushed.

Brennan beamed with pride. "I know."

Hodgins decided that Angela had been hogging the baby for far longer than her fair turn, and he deftly stole the child from his wife's arms.

"Hey there, cutie," he charmed with ease. "Welcome to the asylum. Good luck, kid; you don't have a chance."

Angela rolled her eyes and then stared expectantly at the new parents. "So are you going to spill a name anytime soon or are we supposed to just call her Baby Girl Booth indefinitely?"

Brennan smiled tiredly as Cam forced Hodgins to surrender the baby with a mere lift of one perfectly arched eyebrow, and then she looked questioningly to Booth. Off his encouraging nod, her face shone and her eyes once again strayed to the child now nestled in her boss' capable grip.

"Ellie," she tongued lovingly. "Her name will be officially recorded as Eloise on her birth certificate, but I have already grown quite accustomed to calling her Ellie."

"Ellie Booth." Angela smiled. "I love it."

Suddenly her eyes widened and she clapped her hands excitedly. "Merrin and Ellie… oh my God, it's perfect. In college I dated the _yummiest _drummer, and I can't for the life of me remember his first name, but his _last _name was Marinelli; it's destiny. Our girls are going to be knockouts. I mean, it seems like a given seeing as we're all so sinfully attractive, but this puts it beyond doubt."

Cam gave a resigned shake of her head as Hodgins immediately began pumping Angela for information regarding this gorgeous ex at the same time Booth demanded that she stop sexualizing his half-hour-old baby and Brennan vehemently denounced the existence of fate/destiny. All the while, Angela insisted that if _any _of them had seen this Marinelli guy they wouldn't have a choice but to agree with her. Because the man had been _that _beautiful.

"Hodgins is right, you know," Cam confided, staring deep into Ellie's alert eyes. "You really don't stand a chance."

* * *

**March 25****th****, 11:25am**

You're driving too fast, Booth! She's scared!"

"Would you stop yelling at me? I'm barely meeting the speed limit."

"She's making that face again." Brennan fussed with the straps on the car seat and made minute adjustments to the bundling on the infant. "She's going to start crying."

"Babies cry, Bones. She's going to do a lot of it."

Brennan glared at the back of Booth's head, but before she could formulate a snippy comeback of her own, Ellie scrunched up her nose and let out a short plaintive cry; as if she had yet to quite decide whether or not she was going to escalate to a full tantrum.

"I acknowledge your discomfort, but there is very little I can do to improve it right now. We will be home in approximately thirteen minutes," Brennan comforted, stroking the baby's cheek. "I promise, you will be given freedom to exercise your limbs the moment we find ourselves on the inside of the front door."

Booth smiled into the rear-view mirror. While Ellie didn't quiet completely, her cries didn't increase either. "Why don't you play your little phalanges game with her, Bones?"

Brennan rolled her eyes. "She's far too young for that Booth. Her vision has limitations." Booth moved his lips in silent mimicry, but Brennan was already too absorbed in the baby to take any notice. "Isn't she beautiful? While Merrin was a fairly attractive infant, I believe that Ellie is still much prettier than Merrin was at this age."

"Whoa, Bones," Booth started to scold her but he couldn't help chuckling, "that's your niece you're talking about."

"Also, I spent significantly less time in active labour than Angela did."

This time, Booth couldn't even begin to mask his laughter. "You did amazing, baby. It's not a competition though, okay? You go around saying things like that to Angela and you're going to get smacked."

Brennan shook her head. "It's far more likely that she would pull me aside for one of our 'talks,' but nevertheless, I can see the wisdom in your advice."

By the time they reached the condo Ellie had fallen asleep, but the change in motion as the vehicle slowed to a stop had her making her way to consciousness once again. Booth walked around to the trunk while Brennan released the seat buckles and pulled the carrier free, rocking it gently when Ellie began to fuss again.

"We are very close," she soothed. "However, given the outside temperature it would be incredibly negligent to unzip you at this time."

Brennan smiled adoringly at the infant and made sure Booth was otherwise occupied before removing Ellie's tiny arm from beneath the blankets and blowing soft raspberries into the palm of her hand.

A sharp rapping on her window startled her, and then Booth's smug tone hit her through the glass.

"I saw that, Bones."

She doubted that he could _actually _see her from the outside of the tinted pane, but Booth sometimes had very clever answers for his behaviour that made it very difficult to tell if he was bluffing. In the end, she simply rebundled the baby and exited the vehicle, standing patiently beside Booth as he removed the abundance of baby paraphernalia they had acquired over their two night stay.

After closing the trunk door – and nearly dropping everything he held in the process – Booth met her eyes with his charm smile firmly in place. "You ready for this, partner?"

Brennan returned his smile with a megawatt cocky grin that rivalled his best. "I was born ready, Booth."

"How long have you been waiting to say that?" he asked with a laugh.

"A while," Brennan answered vaguely, swinging the carrier gently as they fell into step.

"A while? What, is motherhood making you un-squinty already? 'A while' is not an answer, Bones."

"Well, it's the only answer you're going to get, Booth."

She held the building door open for him and stood on her tiptoes to place an impulsive kiss on his cheek as he passed. The kiss immediately brought out an overconfident smirk, and Brennan blushed furiously before giving Booth a light push forward to deflect his gaze.

"I find your teasing especially irritating today."

"I love you too, Bones. I love you too."


End file.
